Tag Archives: Sint Maarten Sonnets

150

“You have to comb the infield to do it,”that’s what the colonizer told the men;What a strange position, from which I sit!I maintain the interests of the oxen:Fields, segadors, nationhoods under lights, with flies wafting on high and dreams on low;… Continue reading

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149

Metallic shards flood your senses tonight for the last time, maybe ever, maybe forever. It’s hard to say which is right, between the left hook and the meat cleaver: The spin on your mouthpiece is fierce like shards, scraping the pink toes of giant… Continue reading

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148

My memories of blindness are immense like the loss of the little ants I’d track or the specific taste of brown mouth rinse – fresh near-vomit every night, off the rack: I never thought I’d think clearly again, but the monotonous rain has spoken, b… Continue reading

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147

Be careful because control is a maze that bores intruders into a raw lull, reducing their worldliness to a phase in a bloody sojourn to spite the Bull: Meaning lacks finishing from loose grammars, and the webs they spin are more like cocoons— ridi… Continue reading

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138

If sleep evades me, then I’ll stay awake and dream of the utensils I once used to pick and poke the peaks and pikes I’d make out of flush air to feed my blood suffused: Little teaspoons you could wash with a wish, and two-pronged forks that you ga… Continue reading

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137

Amongst the hollow shades dressed in ash, blue, the moon hangs down like a thirsty molar, waiting to pounce on the gelatin glue that coheres in dead cow bones’ ice collar: No one’s there to hear it but the plague, blue as the darkest day floats ab… Continue reading

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136

Plastic air ducts release the sibylline tension that leads to crows’ feet on the eye, blanketing the space like old nicotine in the pre-ban eras of the bar-sky: That is, the gray horizon is stunted, boxed in by the wooden musculature of ashen live… Continue reading

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