Poetic tweets by Ron Gibson, Jr.
You stand, alone, in the rain, phone against your ear, as I stand, alone, in the rain, phone against mine: an unspeakable heat between us.
When dark shuts in, miles from living, I emerge from the depths, an alien touch in crowded silence.
While we slept, the devil stole grandma. His claw prints led to the fjord. Eyes full of fire, we crossed the surface of the moon, searching.
To kill the silence, she threw her voice away. Her jaw muscles chewing on thoughts, his wooden mouth clumsily said what she could not.
Ron Gibson, Jr. once snuck out of his bedroom window, while his parents slept, and rode his tricycle in the pre-dawn, handheld AM radio to his ear, listening to preachers conduct choirs and speak in tongues. The moon following his every move, the love between them balanced on a tightrope of light, he whispered to it like a friend, knowing it could hear him.