Mark C. Jackson
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I woke up in the wrong churchA Poem by Mark C. Jacksonjust a little something |
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she sings the lonesome wind to sleepA Poem by Mark C. Jacksonwritten for a friend |
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some folksA Poem by Mark C. Jacksonthird poem I ever wrote . . . |
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kill bukowskiA Poem by Mark C. JacksonI hate the dirty old man and his mirror words page after page drink after drink f**k after f**k tale after tale from the life of an ordinary man,.. |
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tango canyenueA Poem by Mark C. Jacksonfor your pleasure . . . |
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through snowy mountain passesA Poem by Mark C. Jacksona poetic perspective . . . |
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written by ghost hand and murmurA Poem by Mark C. Jacksonno matter how we write, what we write may stay with us forever . . . |
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new warriorA Poem by Mark C. JacksonHow did we begin to use weapons? |
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old millerA Poem by Mark C. Jacksona friend was describing how she cried at the end of Old Yeller (didn't we all) and I thought she said "old miller". Well, I wrote it down and a few da.. |
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Compartment 114
Compartment 114
Compartment 114
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