Scalped to abide the pack, I punch out letter’s, like cookie cutter shapes:
un-shaven. Paw prints and urine, clumps of grime, the snow, slowly dispiriting. Pining over-
perfect measurements, of 2 by 4‘s, Our own belly full, it’s marked, and falls off like bacon.
Smells of Spruce, of rented Bird Calls. A finger pressed message in brail;
Bracketed and sanded-down, Laundered and grind.
Honing in on the Tallie tale. So Singular. Such preciosity.
Marvel at the cinder blocked created (between us).
Disclosed, naked and soft. As noodles. quivering at their vulgarity. Silverfish breaking brick.
Spitting out, the words chide back. Forever and cooking. Liken can-opener’s on Anniversaries, the hark-barking back, to the sentiment,
In stone. Quail eggs and an inked hand; the sail to us; away from war with terrible Preciousness,
That cataclysm, a rug pulled back, we see stitches, Like a belt, cinched in, like honey on toast, marked hiden;
Consecrated in a carved tree.
Garbed in skin’s of icy accidents, like graffiti imminent to rip open. One stoned pigeon. One square space.
Scraped on trees, overpasses bottles fall.
As dotted I’s and a crossed T .A leisure display, blue icing smearing, blurring that caking meaning masterpiece.
That punts in sickness, and cast out, calling in the evening blue.
- “Walking The Line” – Song By: Ronnie and Heather Whitley Gibson (tigergroves.wordpress.com)
- Rambling in blue skies – Poem: by Heather Whitley Gibson (tigergroves.wordpress.com)