Outside the little motel beach house, winter storms bomb the shoreline, gulls pivot and churn, waves drive into the sand like slow fists, while inside molten bodies crash and cool, twined under twisted covers, forming new land. Spellman’s arm is a peninsula; his hand, an isthmus; his fingers, explorers. Linnea fills his touch with soft […]
Tag Archives: Ron Gibson Jr.
November Song by Ron Gibson, Jr.
On the edge of me, this light is hard to read when censor marks blight, broken trails disappearing beneath shifting shadows, and I swim, unseen, for the surface calm protects me from me. * On the grand opening of my skin, the world will hear all the unheard. Musicologists will chase down notes like black […]