on sonnets? all over them.

firstly: im not being sarcastic about the form. classically sonnets have been about selfless love, depth of concern and romantic exultation. as forms began to fall apart like other old things might throughout the 20th century (in zee west) classic ones like pantoum, villanelle, heroic couplet and sonnets received a nasty little stigma of being too naive, constrained, inorganic and elementary. often naive is just a nasty thing people say about retaining a degree of hope. constraint might be the best lesson to learn before you aren't. inorganic is likely a critque that speaks more to the historical short comings of the critic. finally, i think it's worth pointing out that there is alot of potential gravity in being elementary. i think its safe to say that often there is more metaphysical value in the word "damn" or "fuck" than in the word "metaphysical". although dearest o'hara* would get mad at me for feeling that way, even though he did all the time.

so i feel like sonnets, once freed from there stigma and left to roam in this silly age have to ask themselves before they fall asleep each night, "what exactly am i good for in this anvil of a year '011?" id say they're about perfect for content like this...

Bars/Mouths
a sonnet


Lindy Luckett: SHIT i saw her last night!
what the hell came out of my 3am mouth
i wonder. what it would be like to pin you back
to a sink. dye all those blonde locks pink!

Lindy Luckett! fuck that name is syrup! i
bet i could say it a thousand times and mean it.
and who couldn't when speaking to such a sinner's
mouth and eyes, so tracer bullet, so lampshade!

Lindy Luckett! granted the bar was girl-full,
but honestly its like a tipped over recycling bin
sometimes. i'm fairly certain despite being Catholic
drunk and your trillion cigarettes we were breathing

mouthfuls of air like stair-walkers, and i'd have prized
having you punch me in the mouth and pull me back.



see, slant rhyme a traditional scheme to bits, establish a thematic content that flies against the older ideal but wades comfortably in the general area... you have enough ammunition to depose all manner of beat era tyranny. all the while leaving yourself with something that i would assume amounts to a literary cookie or juice box in the above case. sonnets are lovely, and as minute hands do what they do i would argue that sonnets have kept pace well as not only a reminder of what was once accepted concerning love's potential with far less cynicism but also as an old best toy with all the new possibilities of simple being older and having such.

post script - at some point my run on sentences must transition well outside the boundaries of prose. i wish i knew better when exactly that was. i'd be content tossing handfuls of punctuation at my messes. in the mean time: i guess this is "fuck you" MLA.

* frank o'hara - american poet circa mid 20th century. trolled around society in new york. named dropped shamelessly in his work. gossiped shamelessly outside of it. died after getting hit by a dune-buggy in the hamptons (likely was drunk).

"as for measure and other technical [literary] apparatus, that's just common sense: if you're going to buy a pair of pants you want them tight enough so everyone will want to go to bed with you. there's nothing metaphysical about it. unless, of course, you flatter yourself into thinking that what you're experiencing is "yearning.""   frank O

what an ass:)