first sonnet i ever wrote:
How would the third world welcome luxury?
If it’s raining, umbrellas fasten like leotards
& we hold a volcano funnel to arbitrary shards.
Even inside-out, puddles collect in cupped proximity.
I’m not sure nature would start out revered.
I was so close to you for so long -
now my offices stand to curl sunny bars of blond.
Her perm only ruffles what was feared.
I had work to do, demoting sex.
Take for granted means you climb above wishing.
The importunate channels translate a mess.
She grated bacteria across my tongue, condiment kissing.
On the phone our voices become snuffly static;
quarantine of glass, tinted as the symptoms confess.
cheers
will
|