Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Sonnet #177

Even when the poem kind of sucks
There's something caught between the teeth
That merited some jive and shuck
Some music, a little bass, a decent beat
Can you dance to the poem? Is there rhythm?
Is there enough of a presence there to spare
A single thought to verse? Holy chrism
of the kings is best when it's not so rare
When nothing is so walled away that divinity
Will not scatter into the weeds as well as fields
Let us all have our moment - let all serenities
of voice and soaring join for even broken wheels:
An engine that barely turns, a mud-packed vessel
That takes great effort to dig out, shovel and wrestle

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