Well, I must thank Mark S. for his piece this AM...



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXV)


Where dawn just tinges blackness with the frail
Note of first blushes on the East for sense,
I wake within the clutches of what thence?
O wherefore does my throat half whisper bail
Is gone as't burns?!  A cold?!  Again?!  Detail
Pink's softest murmurs on this grey suspense,
And promise me it's all a joke from hence,
Or grant my soul such mercies as avail.
So sparrows gaily cry when I deter
The tug which begs I write what'd roll 'non through
Those freighted minutes as I cleaned in tour
Twa bathrooms--while aught slept.  Now hungry to
Effect, what of the cruel suggestion?  Poor?
Is hope a thing with anchors?  Is it true?

27Apr19a