chip away again

caravan conveyance
of automobiles seeming strung
as marbled skittles freshly pulled
from the washer; had all the windows
not been shut the motors

even down there on the street might reach
purrs and rumbles and hums to the ledge
and become a pair of doves and coo
for the solitary chef –
but icicles aching to complete

a drip or six drips act as better
journalists in weather
than any on the tube or silent
screen as onions are diced – peppers
red and green glossy magazine

fragments bidding farewell to aromas
organic; onion chips
are nudged and can’t cling to the slick
wood much less protest the blade
and  – oh back to the doves – see

this is how this happens – doves
were only one life the marbled
skittle purrs could become, or do;
aerial eels – aerial eels?
Reckon aerial eels do as good

as a feathery avionics
ace; of course we know this is all
as if they could, if all the windows
were not shut and if the chinese checker
pieces could be given cause to care

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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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