and letting letters run away with lines

less indispensable legends
than chickens gripping chisels,
the pipe-stuck major in geology
strutting, chucking directives,
and the student of geography,
an optimist but weary

of idiots, says in silence
one day that major will get
what’s coming but for now oh how
the vapid hens cluck; always fall
for the same cock type, how silly
going giddy

over scholarly Islanders,
with whom boredom awaits on nuptial
ritual finale. Gem-gleam
susceptible, geography
student guesses,
saying never mind, just whack
the chisel and act like

nothing is afloat. Geometry
grackles hopefully got
the memo by now. Swing through,
drop compasses, protractors,
see who gets
to be boss then, boy howdy.

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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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