What your hands do, is id…

What your hands do, is id.
Good sounds abound when the mouth is round.
The scare quotes aren’t for me.
You just killed my fairy godmother.
They may spout nonsense, but at least they believe it.
His job should be easy.
Work is the blackmail of survival.
He said and then she said and then everyone had an opinion.
Every sentence is a rotten nail.

In the early days of the pit I was slaughtered.
There only may the signification of a limitless love emerge, because it is outside the limits
            of the law.
It’s about to explode.

Note on the Text

These 555 sonnets are made with found lines and precise measures, a database and text analytic software. I crunched Shakespeare’s sonnets for word, syllable and character averages — my new measures. The lines’ oddities are their own, the arrangement is mine. After the text analytics and data entry, many ways of assembling are found. I hold to the turn (when I think of it) and that sonnets are poems of a certain size, but little more. Something in excess of the lines passes through, it’s this that I’m chasing.

John Lowther’s work appears in The Lattice Inside and Another South, and Held to the Letter (with Dana Lisa Young) is forthcoming. He works in video, photography, paint and performance. His dissertation-in-progress tries to reimagine psychoanalysis with intersex and transgender lives as pointers toward our ever-expanding subjective potential. His website: http://lowtherpoet.wordpress.com.

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