A sonnet cycle in production

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Sonnet #22

Rail thin compass limbs cross unwillingly
Triangulating perception toward
Tender narrow spaces. Ample mounds part
In shadowed depth, teetering anxiously
High above cobbled streets. Rock hard fairly
Rises in monolithic support. Shard
Of apathy stabs into softened heart
Bearing brunt of heavy metal, slowly
Sinking. Can such magnetism repulse
Wrought iron rods inserting their hooded
Convert? Repelling thrusts have no recourse
But to stand in relief, bearing the false
Matter that doesn’t matter, not rooted
In soil, but clear skies. Seeds find no purchase.

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