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and to think i saw it on floyd terrace

Tim Martin's Sonnet Project

Monday, March 05, 2007

Native Speaker

if we temperate rain lodges
daily to each impersonal acts
and bitch about accessibility
this is not an open event
time to the sundial observers
is measured in drifts of luck
shells strung to proscribed
to be the lady or the tiger
run to our buttery conclusion
given circumstance of sticker shock
at revelation of a bedside passports
here are confessors for the latinist
of birthday gifts struck in flesh
that our parents never need to know


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