Of course not.
Don’t ask, don’t tell.
Die at the right time.
You like to read, read me.
There is no crack in our pies.
Shame aint worth as much as you think.
If you loved me, friend, you would not ask.
This aint the first time and it aint the last.
It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.
Performance art is the virtual equivalent of its representations.
Getting laid off is the suck-ass.
A language dies every fourteen days.
The clothes have to perform for me.
I can’t get horny without drugs.
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, and these are 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 that I’m chasing.
John Lowther’s work appears in the anthologies The Lattice Inside (UNO Press, 2012) and Another South: Experimental Writing in the South (University of Alabama Press, 2003), and Stone, River, Sky: An Anthology of Georgia Poems (Negative Capability Press, 2015). Held to the Letter, co-authored with Dana Lisa Young, is forthcoming from Lavender Ink. His website: http://lowtherpoet.wordpress.com.