Not A Sonnet
by Adam | Friday 28 March 2008
You weigh heavy like a color
upon a set of endless tracks.
You pin another pocket
of resistance – borrowed -
from a tin of metal tacks.
It’s spring you know
where are the cranes?
Perching buildings
devolving to three legs
if you count their canes.
A deluge of romance
us alone in the park thickets.
Suppers of vodka or nachos
and could-have-been Shakespeare,
had I found tickets.
You always take a letter
bring wine.