Sonnet

Infinity drives a shutsuck white car.
Death is even sorry.
Limes burn their bitter knuckles of light
In Spring's sour-mouthed hair.
I grab Gwyneth by the warm belly and take her
On a walk. Topher, I called you yesterday.
Sunlight popped fistfuls of light in the limes
And Adam strolled naked and orange and warm
As a baked fig. My tongue swelled.
My torso teetered before me like a big fat juicy
Blood. I bathed it. I breathed it.
The bugs in me hummed and the red pools lapped out.
          The point of my veins seemed so muffled within,
          I only rang once before I hung up.

Copyright © 2007 Evan Nagle All rights reserved
from Cranky
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission