Sonnet#323

No sonnet sits upon this place to make

a little sense from senselessness, no

poem dances out the poison, shimmy shake

The Tarantella is not needed her, so

too the military march, there is no poem

standing here, upon this moving mark

And so abandons pages, forgiveness, and pain

And carry all the things I might have heark-

ened in my brain, I let it all remain

I shattered up the rhyme scheme because no poem

is here, just scattering denials and words

that scatter into more words and a bit absurd

How we just line things up and say the words

And pretend that you can hear me speaking the absurd