Sonnet for Alice N. 

S
Why & what is sweetness all alone?
Either that or it becomes, alas, fleeting,
Which actually helps, because of rhythm.
& there’s a pale intensity to truth, no matter
How pale it is on the levels we receive on.
I mean, the minute you invent a time interval
The more it seems to “jelly out” the excitation
Of accidents; zum Beispiel, “Saginaw, Michigan.”
After a while, we almost expect him or her
To inveigle us into a cafe without bay-breasted warblers.
It’s almost like we have a streak of orange-smell
Which nobody’ll pay for because they can’t talk to it,
Although that’s probably all wrong, or at least falsified
By its very mention, like gravity. Do you agree?
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