a poem for today, 17 December 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of fourteen sentences and its image]
Oh wow, I love Chinese-Canadian food.
Someone special will harmonize with me.
It's no use talking like this.
No more dilemmas in dirty affections.
Perfection has a bad tattoo.
I have nightmares to burn.
Breathe.
Becoming involves the shedding of the chimera of stability and certainty wrought through our attachments to objects towards an awareness and acceptance of the unrelenting dynamism that underpins the act of living itself.
Maybe not.
But, aw, hell.
Her pants are perfect.
The reaction is exothermic.
The liberty of the individual is no gift of civilization.
And he dreamed about this place without knowing its name.
No comments:
Post a Comment