Semi-sonnets

i

Two were a would by came world. They two
by Trotsky's call. Scissors! Paper! And O I am,
and technically changed to stealthily. It
was the old game — With head or held I
swam to the gap, as is a thousand strange. The
life on the super such the summits — Now doubled
in bridges, on ankles.



ii

A vague tradition, writ upon the leaves
of trees. I write myself years — proper words
in proper places. The clutch of life; the fist
of love. Some harder substance fits
tremblinger hands than these.