Tag: sonnet
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Antemeridian Monday
eyes too fatigued from letter and allergeneven to dream, bloodshot and weeping airwhere no tears will form for sloth and ailment,even the brain is hazed, dazed, sluggish toform, frame, interpret image . . . here the worldmelts away into pools of abstraction,not only meaning but the compulsiontoward meaning slips away, absents, escapes. here, in the…
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PBJ
something wholesome and American Imiss about the old sack lunch days, up earlyto spread peanut butter on cheapass whitebread and slather on some Smuckers and tossin a vend-a-size bag of chips and anapple in a brown paper sack with myname scrawled on it in smelly black sharpie,toss in a li’l debbie snack and hoof iton…
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Cafe
a conversation you’ve wandered into;that’s what this is all about, he said. It’ssitting back in your booth in Ed Hopper’sdiner and listening in to the three orfour conversations around you and graftingthe disparate threads into a cogentconceit; there may not be a natural thingabout it, but, seriously, art andnature certainly have their separation.god loves diversity.…
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This Ain’t the Movies
he and nick and I were having whiskeysdown at an eastend dive last saturday nightwhen phil came in with a gun pointing itand actin all gansta on nick and himand jawin’ about his wife and pictureson the internet, and nick and him start(I was way back in my seat by then soas to leave a…
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Our Lady of Needless Tears
she weeps night after night into cupped handsbecause she never learned how to pray, hersadness and misery have an authorwhose name she refuses to think or speakswearing “I’ve moved on” or “I’m in a new,a different, chapter of my life now.” Thismorning she swore to her well-meaning sistershe would start mass next week, but she’s…
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Satori Zhatahz
got this livin-in-the-now thing goingon now, he says, though the haunt in his eyesbelies the now; somewhere on the road tosatori we met at a bright crossroadsof seeking, which is really something forparallel paths. we sat to center andfollow our breath — he his way, and me mine. my breath moving outward, I trail behindto…
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Assets
in a boat along the shallows of a drunkenmoonless night and you call to me from beneaththe lamplight, trollop in a ragged dress low-cut to showcase healthy plentitudesof cleavage, a bosom for all to relish—for a price, and as it should be. The worldwas always about commerce. Life is theeconomy of heartbeats, breaths, meals, trysts,and…
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Written in 2012 about This Current Year
LITTLE APOCALYPSEit’s the end of the world, the end of time,the end of all things, the prophet tells us.but there’s never a calendar entryto guide us, just the vague hint of “in yourlifetime”. all we thought was holy will berevealed as lies of the Adversary.fire and mayhem, disease and flood . . . it’salways the…
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Poems are Like This
he was something special “back in the day”;she still writes sonnets of/to him, though he’s deadto her these three years; one has to wonderif it’s dedication, obsession, orperhaps merely her addiction aspoetess; in the end – does it reallymatter if the poem is to or foror about anyone in particular? some say one way, some…
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The Poetess
younger, she wrote of transcendence beyondthe body, of ecstasies grander thanwhat the flesh can offer; she wrote ofexperiences so wholly spiritualnothing might compare. such were her metaphorsmany considered sublime . . . with age and lifeexperience, her poetry turned moretoward the body, the thrill of nerves touched byhands of her true love; later, the bodilylonging…
Fringemonkey Scribbles 