A Sonnet On Not Writing Much

I see that neither muse nor pen is spent.

Day 5

Watching, all the while, th’Egyptian sky, she breaks upward, stands, and steps over and between baskets of fish ‘n grain…

The boiling blackcurrant’s sipped; thrown.

“Avast!” the axe-fall blade, abrupt, demanded death-industrial: it called, it falled, found its fortune to be laid upon the wharfway stone.

The past: t’was present, as the present: t’was pushed passed. The world: t’was floating ‘midst the passing future.

The girl knelt and stared at the grains, all gathered, of the hot, compacted sand, lowering her right hand slowly t’ward its canvas-surface.

Sunrise, then, o’er the city of the sceptre; dawn about the fort upon the chasm.

Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…

Mock SATs.

Ten days beyond a city sunrise.

山は安いです.

A water flower.

Crocodiles hold union on the marsh.

Upon the breeze, life’s sounds did sail; the people pottered past.

Mapped o’er.