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)

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