Author Archives: marcogibbo

Sonnet Practice

I promise this will only go fourteen and you’ll probably agree that fifteen would be too much besides breaking the rules which are the point in making   one of these goddamn love sonnets— hitting the ballpark iambic mark. Let’s … Continue reading

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outside my window

  the grosbeak clings to the top of the wire fence, hops to the ground, pecks around the dried leaves and puff balls, flutters back to the fence, cocks her head and looks at me   looking at her, then … Continue reading

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That Now of When

Listen Hear I mean really listen here Try to pay attention As if you were blind Like your life depended on it It’s difficult to really hear someone Speaking to you Let alone two or more Plus everything around you … Continue reading

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Chinook

          First of February Fifty-five degrees I walk downtown Toward the river & Charlie B’s   A gale blows in warm Chinooks I remember On the eastern front Of the Rockies Thirty years ago   Augusta … Continue reading

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All the Livelong Days

  The Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul & Pacific had nothin’ and everything to lose that summer in Missoula. Our job—the Catlin Street crossing replacement—four men, water and tools: spike malls and pullers, shovels and picks, rail jacks, tie tongs and … Continue reading

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The Golden Years

Fresh out of his bath, steam rising from the wet-peaked hair atop his shoulders, the old man stared between his legs, his bald head bowed as he sat on the edge of his bed. “You son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “I’ve lived … Continue reading

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The Thing About You

you always say the same thing which is nothing and everything until things get changed and rearranged because the thing is one thing leads to another breath and the next until death pulls you into the black unless we move … Continue reading

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Promising

At eighteen we decided to seal the deal with a license, stifle the gossip about living in sin, and cohabit conventionally. I remember my dad’s terse reaction, pause and expression . . . which I understand better today. He knew … Continue reading

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A Million Ways to Go

  My first summer out of high school, five hundred miles from home, I moved into a basement apartment with a new roommate from Hardin   who dug rock and roll and marijuana, indulged my photography and poems. We pooled … Continue reading

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THE FOREIGN POLICY OF OZ

I cough into my hand a palm-full of maggots, blow my nose and flying ants fill the room. My white handkerchief is a nest of trouble. I’m sweating. I know something is wrong with me. Systematically my army is putting … Continue reading

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