2014 #282

won’t say you gotta cut the line
that never hooks what the throw
hopes maniacally might
embed in because the tackle
is yours and hell you practically own
the store but some fine stripers
and suns were feeding under that willow
and splashes plunked and ripple
melted into ripple and this
would be the perfect evening to stow
the gear, blow on a bonfire,
bust out the mason jars of moonshine


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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