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


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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