Two PoemsSonnet #1: “Love” “Sonnet”
Let us begin with the simplest weavings
Of these disparate strands which comprise “us.”
No “I” if no “you.”
No “I” if not for the sorrowful presence of “you.”
No “I” if not to fall in love with an idea of “you.”
No “I” if not to be succinctly enraptured by “you.”
No “I” if not to deconstruct the metaphor of “you.”
No “I” if only to be discourteously rearranged by “you.”
No “I” if not to breach a sacred carapace of “you.”
No “I” if only to be meticulously dismantled by “you.”
No “I” to withstand the radical vicissitudes of “you.”
No “I” unflinchingly poised at the farthest outposts of “you.”
Let us end here, where these frayed edges of
“Us” are simply allowed to unravel.
Sonnet #27: Plotit’s really quite simple
young poet meets older man
with stellar curriculum vitae
they seduce each other in a coffee house
smoke too many cigarettes
down too many bottles of wine
spend hours in his bed musing
impossibilities
deceiving themselves
when she doesn’t even know
how to pronounce his name correctly
the following morning panicking
holy fucking shit holy fucking shit
holy fucking shit holy fucking shit