I was thinking of posting this under "Sonnets by others,"
but, what the hell, here's another untraditional sonnet to
contemplate. It's the title poem from Anselm Hollo's
so the ants made it to the cat food (Samizdat, 2001).
so the ants made it to the cat food
but then you scrape them into the compost
one day we’ll set out under solar sail
to the systems of fifty new planets
discovered this year
who knows if we’ll do any better
than these ants you think
then contemplate vast grids upon grids
shifting and twisting
clashing and jelling flowing apart exploding
shrinking to this little blob of cat food
in the kitchen sink
oh it gives one the flesh of the hen
comme on dit en français. cat disappears into bush
Hal
"There are then quite a number of things
one does or does not know."
--Gertrude Stein
Halvard Johnson
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