a poem for today, 21 December 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of eight sentences and its image]
As long as they come in here with a dress on they're women.
Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.
I like the way the line runs up the back of their stockings.
For how you always looked, for how I always wanted to touch you.
We never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them.
Early in life I had to choose between honest arrogance and hypocritical humility.
You know what I am talking about so shut up.
Why this inability to leap out of the page and into the world.
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