2014 #187

about distance I am the grossest,
feeblest, least reliable judge
and if distance comes apart once inside
space or space is the distant sister
who causes all monuments – each stone

composing or comprising
each monument – to lose every speck
of stoic relic status
when her cleansed essence possesses
with her leather leash the atmosphere’s

naked eyelet as does the monarch’s
silent acrobat show; well all this
we need not turn into the captive
penny in the pocket, a poor
powerless penny

that knows only rubbing, being rubbed by
the most worrisome
thumb in the galaxy
and being a repeatedly spent
penny is this penny’s
fading memory; what I do know

is when a fire thunders in the dome,
the coals the shovel spoons, fuels
that saucy
saunter, and like magic
the milky way
becomes
defenseless pumpkin pie

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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