Jamie Thomson
Four Sonnets
You are myself & I am my child.
Someone’s idea of a nursery rhyme?
I’d like to hear more
about your Lifestyle, I’m taking notes.
Utilizing gravity. Why is this donkey
trying to bite my head off?
I dunno. Humanity means one heap
of people. Right. I, too, have scribed away
deep “under the influence of the Emotional light”.
Yestereve a cold borscht for you, me, Brett, Kai.
On the beach I now lie, wrapped in fabric
from Fabrics Incorporated . . . I no longer cry
over wiffleball. I even learned REALITY
will someday soon just be water.
Hand shifting sideways
while brain lifts up & down & in,
a swarm of birds repeatedly descending
upon the fruit-laden apartment wall.
Picturing yourself still this young kid.
Reflecting really hard on poems.
Now off scribbling again like some sick dog pissing
to mark an arbitrary spot.
We’ve all got fangs or at the very least the capacity
to do real damage, a small dash slashed
upon a fingernail.
What logical technologies they’re making!
But I, loathing language, constructed a few such
phrases to prove my point.
In truth, I am less & less impressed by you
& your delicate descriptions of Planet Earth
adorned w/ those perfectly chosen flora/fauna words.
A kitten can fall asleep in my arms
& explore the exact same spot
sans bs. It’s like a level in the game
you haven’t unlocked yet . . .
For so long, I really thought of you
as this totally sympathetic character.
Carrying on, unsure what for . . .
I often hoped my overly-grungy posturing
might impress those who doubt me!
Now no one inquires . . .“Be
genuine.” As if!
Squirrels grow consumed
by their caches of nuts.
People ride balloons for the chance to look down
at a world they thought they knew.
They grade the meat
depending on what’s been done to it.
I could be somewhere you go to.
A minor piece or 2 of the past
bound up in new leaves.
The lonely music
of a guy named Arthur
patching himself together.
The sort of magic you might dream about
then fear as it takes hold.