Weekly Sonnet 30

Cake!

Je suis très désolé mon companion
cube.  GLaDOS: soothingly in kindest voice
brought guidance and terror (Playful turrets.)
Let us fly to a far-off land,―Le gât-
eau n’est pas faux—where peace and plenty dwell.—
Jumping through the layers of an onion
never stopping (THEN I’LL DIG A TUNNEL).

Please do not pretend that I have a choice;
Test Chamber nineteen nearly murdered me.
True: never do our alternate lives mat-
ter.  (Too late! Too late!)  Marie-Antoinette’s
selfishness is (Set us free! Set us free!)
today’s socialism.  That come what may,
it must endure...such love is like a ray...

Weekly Sonnet 29

William Bradford (Dramatic!)

All the summer there was no want. It’s just
a plain pantsuit! Goodie Dickson (because
it is her name; because she cannot have
another in her life!) would say, “access-
ories make an outfit.” Be gaudly.

Our splendid cornucopia would bust!
Because a pumpkin pie slice will not halve
itself, fit up our houses and recess
against winter. Be witness, God: our flaws!

Cranberry sauce shows no resilience
in an opaque can though yams do oddly.
May and Flower: bless you with our presence.
Miss Wanda Sykes says (tolerance gone south)
“I’m playing a goddam apple!?” (no mouth!)

Weekly Sonnet 28

Reading Invitation to a Beheading in Cadillac

The copy still has the original
plastic dust-cover cover with wood-grain
patternèd trim—textured brown, anyway.

(Alternate title: Explaining Deer Day
to Everyone Else.) Page twenty-one stamp
as usual. Is it not horrible
—O!—that Christmas music is already
being complained about? The truer pain
will be next week: “Da Turdy Point Buck.” Vamp
me some “Alice’s Restaurant,” please do.

All the schools have the day off (I’ll meet you
down at the Big Yellow Joint). Remedy
this Orwelled mood of mine. (Every other
year, proudly.) Be (not) always Big Brother!

Weekly Sonnet 27

In the Bleak Pre-Winter

Our God: (Ah, cruel! Tu m’as trop entendu!)
Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain.
Actually, it’s entirely melted now
but a Northern Michigan November:
those unbrilliant flakes are overdue
(Refer I not to the CAPS musical—
This year: The King and I, I feel disdain
(whenever) He bows, you bow, we all bow.

Ten minute scene changes are always dull.
et cetera, (One-two-three, AND) ceter-
a, et cetera. Next month: Talent Show—
Dolly Parton medley, homemade banjo.

Regardez at our yard and you’ll have found
all our leaves lying yet upon the ground.

Weekly Sonnet 26

Would You Ever If I Leave

With abyssing eyes your last pitch arrived
in the Captain’s hand and thus it ended.

(Any one who decries your style: “contrived!”
but suddenly enjoys this Limited
is a phony.)  I could have spread my wings—
Last night there was an Autumn Angel: black
robes with appliqué leaves, halo de l’or.
(So are you, what?)—and done a thousand things.
(After seeing Natalie exposée
who could possibly still have begged for more?)
Indeed, commentator Joe Buck did say:
“Jub-Jub” (confirmed on slow motion playback).

Jonathan Papelbon’s golden stubble,
(Wes Anderson’s ne(at&t)idy bubble).