Robert Gibb: Deskulling the Slag Pots
i. You’d see them in the railyard, Coupled and waiting in line To be topped off with that cargo Tapped from the blast furnaces: Magma they’d freight nightly Along … Continue reading
September 25, 2018 · Leave a comment
Robert Gibb: After the Reading
White cups floating above the waters in their cut-glass vase, The tulips have finally opened, while beside her— Pittsburgh, winter—windows shimmer with freezing rain. It’s the morning after the … Continue reading
January 8, 2018 · 3 Comments
Robert Gibb: Night’s Flock
Solstice: the summer’s premium darkness. And with it, for the first time in years, The raspy whinnying of screech owls fills my trees. Their fledglings’ post-nest points of … Continue reading
August 30, 2017 · 1 Comment