Sonnet

Room quiet

trembling termite

teeth the size of

the old homeless

man on the cor-

ner of mont-

wood and the

old theatre

 

Where are you

(where,and r u

really free?)

I know you'd love

to think of the

desperate and

swollen things

that you'd like

to speak of

but

 

the images gotta

to keep goin

swirling and all

you know nothing of

the way that

old men talk of

the leaden reviews

and masked reveries

of Waco and the

sultry old fields

of Dirt

 

That's the only thing ye know

It b the last plant left t' grow