Author Archives: marcogibbo

Dead Man’s Curve

            for Chris LaTray Back in the fifties we were afraid of dying on Dead Man’s Curve just east of town on Highway 10. It was right above my house, so I imagined some dark … Continue reading

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Family Plots

                   for Colin Avoiding the work of weeding is a habit handed down from my dad, a piss-poor farmer who’d only raised Hell and a few eyebrows. Panicky days I wish I … Continue reading

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Stars

You’ll have to excuse me or I hope you’ll excuse me actually I don’t really care   Well I do but I don’t know how to tell you I’m sorry you are so insecure or   Arrogant that you feel … Continue reading

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Montana Bars

have always been full of men and hearty women slinging stories painting landscapes those tools for nothing and possibility places of escape to mind one’s own mind business rabbit holes to the looking glass that back-bar gaze the aftermath tomorrow’s … Continue reading

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THE FISHING KING

  for Dick Hugo   You drove here to catch a Superior fish, got snagged in The Montana Bar. This bartender knows your word is good for nothing, runs you a tab all cutthroat feel is wrong as shadow ghosts … Continue reading

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9/11/again

and: explosions, flames, smoke   sirens, moans, blood & tears all buried in dust infamy   or: strutting the night   the bowlegged wolverine sniffs the air, disappears and is gone   for: who holds the rights?   who knows … Continue reading

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Champagne Music

I watched The Lawrence Welk Show on PBS last night half-drunk on whiskey and was struck by the blatantly overt whiteness of it, like this was the model vision for the reinvention of Making America Great Again, a sea of … Continue reading

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life

  is a joke but not a cruel joke— just a joke.   What’s cruel is how we obsess on something, get so serious about it— that we fail to laugh and love, live today,   enjoy all the punchlines … Continue reading

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Swallows and Rain

Dark clouds burn yellow over Lolo Peak heavy with rain now puddling dust. That sweet earth smell recalls my youth on hot summer days when I waltzed hay fields and conjured thunder clouds.   Bucking twine bales, building golden temples, … Continue reading

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I Think

therefore, I have made myself a poet by insisting I am a poet after years of insisting I wasn’t a poet even though I did know it back then when I kept insisting I was just a guy who wrote … Continue reading

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