Sonnet 59
By Corina Copp
«My face in thine eye, and thine
in mine» is true speech, and is
I read naturally, is male, and
if, I did not look but basketfuls
of presumptive eggs all wet
do nothing for us playing at it.
If and is don't lack for harmless
napkins like freed, unending
time bleats through the
washed away. In mine, suns
dulcet polishing of a tlooth,
«as much falsity as I can use,
I carry.» On the level, a prop-
osition to disrobe contra shit
on the streets steams near a hot-
spot a relationship a sign a man
pinned to your back moves a
name I'd armament but you know
in a flageolet sitch I'd do any-
thing for you so. On the level?
She ran her car aground as his
ships firing agony in sand mag-
netized black screens of mites,
her car OK tho, it hurts, hood-
winked and The Image in Form is
a book of art writing by Adrian
Stokes and also in Malina,
the fact is «l've never been
happy, but I have seen beauty.»
What a fine replacement.
Blubbery and dying in my
same as breastbone for you
is some fixed charge waiting for
Papermate® to stir a con-
ditional tense apparition, or
is that a coffee, tedious wall
clouds are rather of soap, see
and hath sense since torment
and hydromancy bothered to tune.
More, more if must be, more if I'd
be into it, I said I'd do whatever.
What would she of the unmistake-
ably Gothic appearance write
me, «l'm losing my mind with
probity presumably forever,» sure,
I like most care more than fuck-
ing Tiffany's rattle, inlaid with
let's book it to Alpine, if a diviner
knew you then too as I do.
I wish she would tell me what
to do with you, or if I did look,
How marvelous to see you,
post-screening, makes «true
hearts in plain faces rest»
more larding and accurate?
Or whether revolution be the same.
In 1938, hotspot was employed
in the firefighting sense and
whitish smoke employment gives
other women illustrates finitude
onscreen, a labor of demand.
If other women wanted finitude
over touchable repetition or if I
beat and beat salad or roast new
potatoes deeply in salt and oil
and exclaim their spits as an otter
might shriek the slightest un-
attitude vocable across your
hunks in Pisces comportment, or
with happens in trying and apts.
to go mad in, surely it's been
nothing near this terrific face
I never in real head'd defenestrate
Copyright Credit: Corina Copp, "Sonnet 59" from The Green Ray. Copyright © 2015 by Corinna Copp. Reprinted by permission of Ugly Duckling Presse.
Source: The Green Ray (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2015)