The left of the airport knackwurst
opened babbling books of simple minded focus
hooking too many tuna
walking the runway
lifting off over the waterfall’s edge
through the bear claws
so slippery evading sharpness
clawness clowning air with swipes
like wuh wuh whirling backfists
prowess of the fair
Grid works in sliced salami
American cheese like the morning sun rising with forced field lines
concentrates of plasma plates
tightening dimensions in layers spread thin
like guacamole slathered upon bread
evenly before the bread disappears
Beginning the being of a square world box
hollow inside yet no more than the outside
plasma lines snapping with cornered energy
singularities
where cube calls with equal gravity
treating every coffee with something sugary
Each city with moving sidewalks
across the great spaces crowds in lines flow
on tired aching knees
shuffling ahead a few steps
a caterpillar eyeballing opportunities
no one thought about
when the temperature dropped and the rain fell
Nothing remains something
claims of shouts along the lines
dots moving ahead
lemons pledge to each easy squeeze
fealty and towers, lyrical rhyhmes and powers
continents with creatures howling
governments in every box
looking back upon the pomp circumstantialy
evidence of deluxe colors
shapes of glistening others
reproducing in kind
segways.
Garrison Gibson: books and blog 