2 sonnets from my Harold Brainerd Hersey conservation project:

PENNY WISE


the Many books of the crumbling starlight
from a binding of that moon through the window
of recognizing my pretty in That moted moonlight
carelessly along the horizon, seeing What a narrow

desire Pointed a fancy finger carelessly
in My Shut mouth, And of Remarking merely on
a "forever penciled" dusty mockery
of my deceived love heart up through dawn,

Yet, this here shadow of a library
Is not into believing the years of dust,
I am one, yet I am almost lost Upon your agony,
the first sign Is When Your own lip bursts:

......

Then your Will will not pick it last!
But now, with You, an act will pass And pass.



REMEMBRANCE


I think the earth gave me Life
Through The strangle-arms of taste,
you with a thousand clouds suddenly white
The women's moon fails to taste

When Your moon opened:
As though Running to reach me
Among The shadows broken
over the splinters now salty

.........

I Flutter forth half a kiss
around their thin lips,
As though my darkness
were them On the lips

as Into the tiny mouths
of monstrous brain moths

Genetic Manipulation

once a one-time shaping event,
my illusion, a sliding
door to dream realms
giving birth to
disillusion,
called
miryam

now
no more
moses-dynamic
i grow in
faith

merciful
you show
me the way up
is down. i repent lack
of trust. genetic manipulation,
paradigm shift: lose to find; die to live
a dynamic shaping process, revealing a call

.

IF ALZHEIMER'S CAN MAKE ME FORGET ABOUT US, I WELCOME IT

Time should be cleaner, and when it's a bad day
For bedsores, watch her drain—Quick! before she
Walks out on you again. If air can be brackish—
Hell wins. You're so angry—it makes you fuck that
Much harder. We'll always have dial-up & a faded
Tattoo that reads: It's over. Well—this was never real,
Anyway. A dignified man from another time plays
Minor-chord bridge—choke him righteous on distemper
Croutons, then make him sing you "September Song."

Idyll

i feel how my shoulders now
hunch up towards my neck in
an apparent attempt to ward
off the world. how like a
bird shuffles feathers up
to an ungainly profile over
eons of genetic morphing oh
i oh i oh i am the mock
turtle dove, mooing on about
lost love on the endless
beach of change.