As/Is







1.06.2017


Sonnet: Jarred Tea



O, if only I were still a young
buck, a gun, a razor-sharp grass-
hopping wisp, I'd flip for your
dogged persistence, brutal sex,
siamese purr, write a sutra
for our every rub, manifesto for
every wet night, bagged, bombed,
bitten down to a raw-red quick;
but I sit, bereft of ego except to
know that I like seeing you better than
being seen, and as a vapor hung
above, below, behind you I rate
what possibilities we have of rain-
layed out like jarred tea at Starbucks.