rockin'.

rock-hoppin',
rock-shoppin',
and rock-droppin'.
rocks.
rocks every-flippin'-where.
the granite state, my ninjas.
new hampshire.
we've got a lot of rocks just laying around.
and driving around, i guess, too.
like attracts like.
mr. albie rock represents on some real deal rocks.
hard.
hard rocks, rocks in hard places, rolling rocks, and rocking rolls.
we doo-doo all those different rocky balboa jauns.
and if you see me in my pick'em-up truck,
you can bet your bottom dollar i'm out there
scooplin' all up on that rocky situation.
a weekend's worth of heavy-handed, gloved-up,
helper-haranguing, hot, hot days.
moving those heavy heaps;
those boulderly blops;
and those gargantuan granite slabs.
our farmerly family friends, casey and cyle came by,
with vegetables and all-around good gardeny treats.
two days in a row.
and holy smokes, my duders;
moving rocks?
two bearded barbarians, mutha-b!tches.
heaving and huckin' and haulin'-A*,
like a couple of  sweaty, semi-swarthy fortress fortifiers.
dark spots, bright spots, and so many different crack-a-laks
of gray granite, pink granite, conway granite, feldspar,
quarts of quartz, and whatever the F* else.
neighbors,
the big gaping maw of our mounded-earth mouth-like semi-circle
is studded with a savage smattering of serious spikes.
shark-mouth meets rock-biter meets tremors meets dune.
look it up.
because THAT, kids, is exactly what's poppin'.
big miki-flippin' rocks, y'all.
they're no joke.
garden design is what's up.
-now ask me about my spaghetti spindle-arms.
go ahead; ask...
yeah.
they're sore, tired, sweaty, and rubbery.
but not so much so i didn't knead the ever-lovin' livin' sh!t
outta some epic super rock blocks.
that much rock-related reality NEEDS some delicious cookie treats.
and we've F*n' got 'em.
dozens, even, an' that.
***********
i keep a spare set of gloves in every vehicle i drive.
my normally delicate hands are getting calloused,
but my work situation renders them thoroughly moisturized.
softened up one tatzap at a time.
hence the rugged man-glovage.
i'm sayin',
warriors never know when battle might be joined,
and rock-riding writers can't predict the presence of
sweet, soil-sprouted spurs of 'spar.
...but we sure can anticipate 'em.
i'm ready.
i've GOT the gloves.
my darling daughters and i even went on a scouting mission.
we spotted some righteous rocks, ripe for wrangling.
rocks and stones, neighbors.
standing stones, sitting stones, hearts of stone.
no kidney stones, though.
only non-stop rocking.
it's who we are, it's what we do,
it's what we've got;
never quiet, never soft.....