you __ i hate sonnets the digital backbreak of the dumb|dead|mute sign|  no condign like that|
  14 pretentious lines with their gew-gaws the abbabababbbauue,askakld   and the little
turn-key at the near end the closing copulating couplet but not Eyetalian mister Tallinn 
nor the intaglio of the radicel volute  its crisp in the inside of    y'our love  sending 
sensitivity vibes over the atmosphere each one following her skirt up the staircase|
  your work  abababbaba has been summoned to the  rascal  or the rogue in atten-
dance like  a cheap curb| come off she say where if we go it happen| what if no
one show|if weather permit|cling to the ought |no one has given birth least of 
pat red begobbing in wedens  |a fake you never met  a better con | fat
 as canny|

of the sensitive one i dream she was born before  i was yet reborn
in the line of parallel incarnations along the railroad of self


  were she born before me as  my sister then reborn as my daughter she's my younger mother
now  in the  raisin of the sun her handy gown clutching the wind of its horizon