SIX SONNETS
[Goldenrod, I could say, you know, everybody wants something]
Goldenrod, I could say, you know, everybody wants somethingfrom me, but, well, everybody wants something and nobody wantsnothing from me, goldenrod, towhead, beast. Goldenrod, you packthe meadows like gold-plated sardines. I have heart palpitationsbut all forms of relief end with a kickback, like my aunt with the blackeye who lied she was kicked by a horse. Free goldfinch comes to feaston thistles in May and perches and weaves and sings of its politicalexhaustion. Pisses me off, bird, to find out the devil from Sunday schoolis real. I didn’t even have my own Sunday school. Trespassed and thievedart supplies and gibberish. Had I only tied the play apron around my waistand faced the windy sun and watched your gold hermaphroditic wands sway.Dumbbell that I was I sought a product called God though the whole villagewas opulent with gilded heathens. Goldenrod, is your dying hard? I know,I know dying’s hard. Are you reaching toward, you know, or just reaching?
