Friday, March 31, 2006

The Anti-Sonnet

They Never Say 'Goodbye' Before They Go

He cut me loose just in time,
To lose me my sweet Valentine.
A lover's rhyme gone stray, amiss
Has lost me February's blood fruit kiss.
My Head he pounds, my Heart she's sore,
My Psyche cannot even score.
I am beside myself, awry,
Bedsheets wrung out, hung out to dry.
Stern Eliot's cruel month waxes conceited,
January has left me alone, unheeded.
He'll never write, he never phones,
I fumble in my tombs and tomes.
Mirror, mirror, against the wall,
I wonder that you shine at all.


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