Sonnets Called "On the Sacredness"
Close by the jerkwater rancheros tonight, the round
gloom longs, a window in the gloom, an attitude in the window, a pleading
in the attitude, an unwitnessed
ravishment in the pleading. A man stands there in the window
thinking about how naked the water looks,
thinking the water looks like emptiness, it looks
like nothing. His heart
aches to think how many gamblers have broke down
on this highway? How many princesses of ice?
I know I'm suburban, I've got a shitty whiskey in my hand,
I work a job like eating a knife . . .
Everyone's sperm all over my life,
the sad waiting. Here's to the simple and endless
desperate person lifting this glass.
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