Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Tuesday, March 22, 2022

Sonnet #343

 I tried to break my black demands and broke

Upon the pain that comes, the head that splits

The twisting guts, accustomed as I was to it,

The dark and bitter, until I returned and broke

By my addiction, I swear that I will change, I will

Abandon all the gloom and growling things

And sleep untroubled and becalmed and sing

To the morning without breaking or spill

All of our darkness, all of our agonies, all

Become a habit, become a place in our head

Where we return and balance out our falls

Make sense of them, how we make our beds

And lie in them, and grow accustomed to routines

And any change that comes to our darkness stings.

No comments: