sing in idiom of disgrace
the cherrywood romances of rainy cobblestones
and then one morning to waken perfect-faced
to the big promise of emptiness
the air beginning to thicken
banging around in a cigarette
whatever is going to happen is already happening
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all from THE SONNETS
fully aware of the cliche of making a poem from lines from poems made from lines of poems
but perhaps the cliche is tired enough and stashed in the desk and then you come upon it and it feels a little bit new again, like a great old record
or perhaps not
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