...or did, as I madly scribbled this hotly down.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCLXXIV)


Dear Friday night, could you arrange fr'intents
Some date for souls that draw the short straw?  Bail
Is sleep cuz I've no better cue t'avail
Me of, not even stars in black depths' sense
Of that which Abraham saw maunt be thence
E'en counted, cuz it's TOO COLD.  Wake in pale
Excuse to oh, the dregs of that wine they'll
Grant might have made me drunk, and whither hence?
My friend was too sweet, and aught hope was poor.
I'm sick of being the **** of jokes, yet to
Nobody's credit, dawn finds me as twere:
Ambiv'lent.  Yes, I realize that won't do.
What's left when I've spent all?  What, to bestir
More than this bitter taste of all I rue?

12Apr19d

Mebbe laugh at me?  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCLII)


Tis snowing lightly, like the fragile sense
Of steam too many hours ago, that pale
Dance of half ghostly tendrils as a veil,
Now white lies in the shoveled tracks fr'intents--
Some veil laid down for "I was here" ist?  whence
I'll try to not remember on that scale
It IS a Friday night with naught t'avail,
This cabin fever sans a cure from hence.
I should watch films tonight.  But that is poor.
Eat choc'late?  Mebbe that could thinly do.
What good were all my boyfriends as it were?
Girls half my age are married now.  Love's to
Effect a ***** joke played on me fer
Laughs I cannot enjoy.  Why is't not true?

18Jan19b