Inscrutable Sonnets


And what of origins? I’m not the only one obsessed
with tracing lines back and back to where they might
have first unspooled; not the only one who picks at scabs,
returns to sniff at sites where shit might have unloaded
and hit the fan; where upchuck dried then crusted
on the floor. Think of the way certain animals roll
pellets of their own dung as if to ascertain
they get a chance to wring out all the nutrients
from the goop that first went down; similarly,
how a doe will eat her own afterbirth because she
simply knows no other way to clean up. What’s good?
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you strong.
A stone passes; or a spasm of bile— Language,
memory: of course these are a kind of coprophagia.

2 Replies to “Inscrutable Sonnets”

  1. A beautiful example of beauty made from “ugh” stuff.

    We have met on Dave Bonta’s “Morning Porch”, a while back.

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