a poem for today, 13 February 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of twelve sentences and its image]
What your hands do, is id.
Good sounds abound when the mouth is round.
The scare quotes aren't for me.
You just killed my fairy godmother.
They may spout nonsense, but at least they believe it.
His job should be easy.
Work is the blackmail of survival.
They may spout nonsense, but at least they believe it.
He said and then she said and then everyone had an opinion.
In the early days of the pit I was slaughtered.
There only may the signification of a limitless love emerge, because it is outside the limits of the law.
It's about to explode.
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