THE BLANKS By Zac Dunn The blanks All fired into the canvas like horns of a ram Locked in the fence so defenseless To resist the sunrise and coyotes That circle the weakened creatures Shadow and shallow breathes of missteps Or mysterious doors lacking knobs that All knock back prior to knuckles That dust the lacquered finish and Shine back hesitation rather THAN diminishing returns The spaces in places so bold yet blanks of cannons that rusted to ramparts seek to intimidate the fleet yet miss the steel balls and powders embrace Exploding over olde bays into calm harbors that hide hidden truths we used to know which way the wind could blow us out to cast nets and earn the simple harvest of respect The blanks all chained together whatever consequence or consonants prowl over rabid vowels and proud owls giving whoots and catching puss in boots on hot tin roofs or slinking on granite stoops that offer brownstone hopes that gloat mason’s spackle and integrity or audacity to place stones so precise they explode from nothingness to become a home The blanks touch of the brush so rushed it squibs forgetting canvas and crate paper wrapped so simple and left to tackle haste on galleys or bows that hunger to hide rust from the salt that eats its essence so quickly too and feeds anchors spools of steel loins that scream foul behind buoys that mark schools of fish who hope to find holes in nets and return to the blank embrace of open waters upon … FIN 8:22 on DEKALB FOLLOW FOR MORE — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @SAVAGESNEVERSLEEPNYC 3
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