by Mark Jackley

ON THE EDGE OF A VERY SMALL TOWN

So flat
you can see forever,
which is not halfway

to Clovis.
Which is nowhere.
May as well stay.

YOU MUST CHANGE YOUR LIFE   

with apologies to Rilke

I’d love to, brilliant, crazy-ass poet,
but these days I find
I move with all the speed
of a tree, born
with roots, not feet, the better
to entwine the few
people that I love
and hold on in the dark.

OFFICE CHAIR ABANDONED BY A COUNTRY ROAD

You could swivel
all around
to wonder at the ledger
of starlight,
trucks,
ditches,
gravel,
bats,
moon

Of crickets chanting,
We belong,
the wind conducting business
with the stubble,
with
crows asleep
in corn

When the morning comes
half the assets
would be missing

New ones would
accrue
when gnats fly up your nose