Two sonnets I really like. Buffalonian Douglas Basford’s got some pretty cool stuff here, such as:
So arise and go shiatsu on it again,
jackhammer till pale-green static sparks flames.
she’s still young and widely enough known
to minister to birds and those who lean
towards heaven for damn good reasons: lust, guns, rage.
I’m sure I shouldn’t have posted half a whole sestet of that last poem. But I just couldn’t help it, Mr. Basford. It was just that good.
And this is from a man who says this is what he’s anti- : “I hate poems that end with shimmering light.”