Tuesday, November 20, 2007

as when ~

yerr breath is filled with something

as when
which is breathless

between teeth and b's

o that other pressing place



as when a sonnet snare it track
fumble over the high ground of its pentameter

or corseted crossing the rhetoric of its accident
you've sent the face this amber shell
carrying back its smitten fare

when it worked around the couplet
hankering a couple's lovered body
clacked by the Sunday coup-de-grace
pause its turn to legitimize grace of your hair
yer handing this finger clandestine
Sunday and moon clocks over
gathered in your sneaky feet

not necessary to you swill porches round-abouts
and card moochers

this is not night
a sonnet bearing down like a geese
out of shadow
a permanent toss between every expected page