Three Poems
My dog gnaws at the bark.
My dog breaks bubbled limbs
at the expense of his mouth’s ridge.
When My Dog hustles
lower animals bustle.
Disconnected “D I P L O M A T” and
blunderer fit to burst.
. . .
Blue jays’ query?
They don’t find one in fleeing…
for they are and will and were
more graceful
than said blunderous Dog,
and they know it.
By Marc Blanc.
Three Poems
On a bed we sit like miniature bears.
You can bury me in your mattress,
I want to sit next to you
until we become dangerous.
Until we become parade balloons of bears,
cut loose and floating too close
to the street level floors of buildings.
“I want you up there,”
you said with closed eyes, pointing
to the chandelier that you called a ‘ceiling necklace’.
Cross your heart and hope to live for a very long time.
By Gabby Gabby.