Oh Twine A Bib (Hill-Rocking)
Originally appeared in Lost and Found Times, Columbus, OH
Oh twine a bib of birthday hollows
'Round your satellite of memoirs sweetly tarted;
Let go o' cushions hankering for eyedrops in
The sore junkyard's morn…
My mechanic in the hills,
My buster-baby of the calendar calling,
Shines a graph of calves upon us,
A whole playground of Fortean winks upon us
As sure as Shannon County ceases at Summersville –
Or maybe not,
But blazing giftwrapped in my starry trance
Bellows-pumped by further cold fronts;
Be a watercolor harbinger of ancient houses freezing
Releasing crystalline cartons of goods
When hill-rocking becomes the last green storm,
The electric archive of flounderings exploded
David Thomas Roberts (1992)
