Mark Jackley

Some Nights

my head’s

a jar of

fireflies,

more the

jar, not

the desperate

light, a gift

trying

to reach

the world

Kenny, Almost Heaven

survived

the wrecks

but walked away

from all twelve steps

whose turnips

taste like

cancer like

crumbled

mountaintop

so hungry

no one sees him

only

deer heads

in the taverns

staring through

the dimness

as he hunts himself

Cul de Sac Morning

I was sizing up last night’s dream.

But never mind the handcuffs,

the hacksaw, and the kiss.

Its remnants won’t exceed 

the size of tarnished keys 

to getaway cars that don’t.

I will stick them in my pocket,

I will jingle them all day.

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Mark Jackley lives in Richmond, Virginia. Recently retired, his back aches from volunteering at a nearby community farm. His poems have appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, The Cape Rock, Tampa Review, and Does It Have Pockets.