Weekly Sonnet 34

And, lo,

Thine heart divine, thine wine with me imbibe,
Love. My soul for thee doth pine. They were sore
afraid. Pakistan is a genuine
nuclear power, democracy is
compromising the powerless, a bore
is a straight line that finds wealth in divis-

ion. (Mystery of the Missing Heiress)
[Murders Them All] (Jahannan Press Statement
Two-step) I explain the facts and digress.
“Facing a dying nation,” says the Tribe.
We’ve found a crushed glass pickle ornament;
when snow be white, surely our tests—(Oh, fine).
Standing on my toes I reach for a star,
so the world can see who you really are.

Weekly Sonnet 33

Pushing Through the Market Square (Tomorrow)

(Can you imagine what five years from now
will bring? Which idol will (gallantly) rise?
Brightly sing do the Ray Conniff’s to thou.
Green and red are always upon your eyes.
The way that you talk is miraculous.
(You’re beautiful.) It sounds a bit bizarre.

Nothing weekly can be meticulous
or relevant. But things the way they are,
I find (no) assurance in John Titor
I never thought the future would be fun
for me. There’s no change (left) in the meter.
Are we evolved as to ever be one?
The first croaking frog could have imagined,
cynically, all these words within the wind.)

Weekly Sonnet 32

That’s right Agnes, just go out and greet them in your usual warm-hearted manner.

Let’s not discuss the destroyed tapes (sorry).

Mis’ess Hamilton (I ain’t saying she’s
a gold-digger), her man’s wealth could ne’er please,
knew all sorrow. Some people got no choice,
the loathsome shame of never knowing want.
Dudley: an idea, disperse the shades
of gloom and sadness! In skates I am re-
born. How gauche these elaborate desserts.

(Egg custard, sir?) Remplir les cieux d’un chant
vaincueur! And they can never find a voice.
“Make it easy on yourself,” reasserts
Sally Brown’s wishes, Charlie’s feeling fades.
(Messiah complex.) Naturally cur-
ly hair remains when e’er dust does occur.

Weekly Sonnet 31

(Queer Theory) King Moonracer

It’s the most wonderful day of the year.
A feminism class will forever
stir how you watch Rudolph (means slips slips hers).

Fact: Senator Larry Craig is not a
homosexual; he is a pervert.

Nothing ever too fabulous: I’ll lay
out fine china on the linen, polish
up the chrome. Hermey wears not a mesh shirt,
there’s always tomorrow, the snow doth swish.
Wake up!—With ringing cheer and joyous shout,
chill—Don’t you know that it’s time to come out?
(What the HELL have you got back there, reindeer!?)
Please do join me in my important search
for Dust, and boycott the Catholic Church.