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.