Sonnet: Powerlines
Although that benign virus appears to have
blocked your transmission, we, all of us, know
the only one with a decent suit was your
Uncle Fred. The wireless edition
of your latest dreams, recently engaged in
traditional modes of defeat. Somewhere above
us they watch the tops of our heads--women
with their soft ovulations, men focused on health
and cheap pathos. Her favorite animal, astoundingly,
the squirrel, but two previous marriages had left her
reduced to editing small-press books, totally
out of touch with the man behind the mask, until
the stones, their metasurfaces out of reach, ran red with
ketchup, and powerlines sagged into nearby careerists.
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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email: [log in to unmask]
website: http://home.earthlink.net/~halvard
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