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by Terry Brinkman



Gail’s Midnight


Crying on the edge of the river-boat

Might go first herself to Gail’s midnight

So many workers so many wrong

Propagation bitten

To spite them singing a song

She half confessed like a kitten

Tone her land is gone

Question between her chews written




a line, (a short blue one)





Stained with dirt and tears a month of Sundays vermin

White smoked Priest many a good man’s curse

Toad’s belly with a fluent croak hearse

More important to be prayed over in German

Eyes of a toad names in the sermon

Down in the vault of the nurse

One hill one river one lake to traverse

Live for every shade of night determined

Church Yard yawns shadows of the toad’s voice

Was a pitch dark night focal

Weak gasp toes to the Daisies choice

How many broken hearts she broken local

Once you are dead you are dead rejoice

Heat the mild gray air vocal




a line, (a short blue one)





Wouldn’t grudge us a laugh vile

Whole place has gone to hell for a tenantless virgin

Careful women never forgive burgeon

Mutely sustaining vain gestures beguile

Wiping his wet eyes with her dirty fingers each mile

Bonnet lean jawed harpy sturgeon

Temporary insanity claims the surgeon

Drinking from Red Labeled bottle makes her smile

From Saloon Dining room through Cemetery Gates to the village

No more pain wake no more Dylan

Street Organ roll clicking rattling pillage

Song of lady’s hospice too chilling

Sunlight shines between the coffins tillage

Lord forgive her cure a Red Nose villain 




a line, (a short blue one)





Silk hatted head in line to vote

Her nose white flatted against window panes bow

Cool enamel lacquered floating flower boat

Dirty old cream gown and a rip in her coat

Opened her eyes a wide as a cow

Boat rattle over cobble trying to row

Quite ghost woman’s waist coat pocket note

Sinking in her water-bed couch

Limp as an Irish wet rag towel

Mixed company can only scream ouch

Button-less leather of the seat mildewed dowel

Removing a snake from her sweatshirt’s pouch

Hugger mugger in corners vow




a line, (a short blue one)





Passed over a Hopscotch court it’s too warm

Old man who fished to catch a wart

Flag furled around the mast over the fort

Erosions in a fishless desert swarm

Beer on the bank between fishermen becoming deformed

Eyes same color as the Sea Port

Cheerful undefeated at her sport

Smelling fresh rag papers chloroform

Early morning catches the fisherman’s wage

Strange old man great fish his only want

Pelicans flew over the harbor’s stage

September time when the great fish flaunted

Coffee from condensed milk cans at her age

Place on the dirt floor cooking so daunt




a line, (a blue one)


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