Tag Archives: Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke

Sonnet 69

October 17, 2048. I swim to Venezuela. Bent relationships quiver from branches. I play ‘Moon River’ on the mandolin to prise them loose. The world’s at times still irksome chemistry grounds my humanity, keeps it from ending. Everywhere, poets travel. … Continue reading

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Sonnet 68

            Come and have some cold corn and tell us how everything is in the wine cellar                         — Susan Trott She slapped ears of wheat. An instant dischord. A Chateau Cos d’Estournel blanc poem is emerging from the adjacent beach. When … Continue reading

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Sonnet 67

I excised April from the calendar, and she bit, she screamed, and all the clarinets from all over had Being surgery, and became yachts. Why is it that we love? The answer orbits as mere as our Earth, as mere … Continue reading

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Sonnet 66

Ginger me, cinnamon me, & then let flavours of tomorrow mastermind their desire. Until the feebleness drops more opportunities from the æther, a plunging neckline will have to do. And much do it is. So, ghosts, monkeys, everyone in search … Continue reading

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Sonnet 65

and i fell into a nice carelessness of small things. and i lost her. the next crazy fuck was weirder than the weird inside. fishing to kill our great white male, murdering banks, taking my soul, giving it to Jesus, … Continue reading

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Sonnet 64

it’s the breast cancer chemo. how can i gaze, no matter how deep, how enormous my eyes? my throat rushed forwards, backwards, and a Harley riding nurse offered to send me her body until her machine compounded. another birthday, fireworks. … Continue reading

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Sonnet 63

            every poem has a soul in it                         — Aijo Seven hearts towards a sky. Seven outer hearts, and one inner heart. The break falls. Each soul falls. The oceans of the planet gain, and lose. Buried with each soul the … Continue reading

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