Sonnet August Twelve
In present America, there is
no infinite. There’s only the middle man,
the shortest route between a small appliance
and Detroit, the marketing of Pan
with some mercurial appetite for spotless
stainless stolen goods a bargain made
in heaven helpless less than perfect now
with future overworked and underpaid
the credit cards in catastrophic comedies
midsummer tempests much ado to merchants as you like
the mortgages the luxuries the lexuses and nexuses
inside the advertisements salaried to soothe and psych
it’s business usual and customary
waiting for your beneficiary.
~Son Rivers 2005
A PASSING MOMENT
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This is my rather loose translation of a hokku by Ōemaru, who lived into
the first five years of the 19th century. For a moment,Autumn seen on the
hillsAt ...
1 week ago
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