five-syllable sonnets I - XXV | XXVI - L | LI - LXXV | LXXVI - C i figure, if i write enough, i'll make one perfect phrase.
LI a new horizon is imprinted on these tiles flecked with the footsteps of student bodies. i force through each day with accomp lishment seared into my brain, an echo of all i should be or am not doing. leisure, it seems, is not my agenda. i will rest when i take the time to die.	LII these shoes have fight on them. this brown stained with grass and mud and fight. a trophy described in detail, laces and blood, four rounds of two minutes, two men, pacifists, boxing gloves, sweat, destruction. i'll never do it again. leather shoes, you kept me upright for long enough to beat the other guy.
LIII i dreamt last night that there were polar bears outside my back door, clawing at the screen, sniffing and chuffing and trying to get in. what the hell does that mean? am i now suddenly afraid of bears? why polar bears? it must be the cold of winter claw ing its way into my dreaming neurons.	LIV distractingly i called your name in love, threw my hands in the air, did a dance that called my sanity into question. in summer cherry blooms i sought you out, and there in the garden, the hexagonal gazebo, entwined in roses and vines, i felt sorry for everyone alone.
LV the white of this screen betrays the shadows. it is a nega tive, and my face the unfortunate film. am i stuck to love none? soulmates. stupid notions. people walk with purpose for them, tripping over the egos they let lead, inflated by a false sense of motion... but we all stagnate.	LVI ut oh, hot girl's at the table surroun ded by nerdy boys. i wonder if she is frightened by our-- nevermind, she's gone, like a flash in a pan she disappears to the starbucks where she will adjust her hair to the utmost degree. we stole her only table, and she responds with smoke.
LVII externally i waved index fingers to make quotations around sarcastic remarks. she quotes back, slender joints combine with repetition to form nonverbal symmetry between human beings. we are on the same page. continuing this would probably turn out badly for me.	LVIII broken transmission. bilingual workers, mechanics, toiling over loud music to extrapolate the problem with my car. it huffs like an old man, stutters like a devirginized school boy after prom, and all they can say to me: "no hablo ingles, seņor." i hope they fix it good.
LVIX i lied fortunes of mandolins to death. i led men by song to battle, and in night fed them their own hearts. they died alone, and me there to reap the benefits. i felled the stars, collapsed nations with music growing from fingers and combustible. when next to me, you will never be free.	LX forgiveness is as frightening as silence. both scare the shit out of me. to forgive bad deeds, to befriend those who abuse trust... what is important? in times like this, my conscience dictates that humility trumps all--that karma loves a man who will for give and forget and kill them with kindness.
LXI i am a creature of patience, like a young lizard upon a rock, waiting for the sun to rise and reenergize me. opportunity knocks, and i wait at the door, with poised ears, disentangling the white noise of life from the ambience of my future. my end will never end.	LXII grated lettuce, this red blot of salsa-- the burrito's gone, but it has remnants, a skeleton of sour cream and fresh guacamole. its death has filled me. it has made me whole. nature abides, the song of life protrudes from my belly. i killed that burrito to make me happy.
LXIII he fumbled tennis balls daily, a sign of his enduring love for her. indents in his side from fre quent backhand bashings, purple rings around his eyes from lack of sleep. mornings spent at the court, with that damn machine, spitting balls at him. once, just once, they had a match. he lost, but she remained.	LXIV this green bench, with its molded metal mesh serves only one pur pose: to hold the weight of the weary, to guide their aching bones and tensing muscles to salvation in respite. this bench is alone, far away from chairs and tables, and as night falls it will stay alone. but tomorrow, it lives.
LXV tiny pumpkins, will you ever get the respect you deserve? here you sit, over looked as the world goes and moves, and you sit. and sit. and sit. i commend your strength, your determination, your resolve to be resolved. i wish i had that direction, to know exactly what my purpose was.	LXVI the weight of the world is metric, contained by scientists in compounds deep under the earth. it presses, in part gravity and in part sadness, frustration. you press back and suddenly you're atlas, shoulder to the continents. we cannot win. we carry it all. we disappear beneath.
LXVII i forgave, but did not forget. no one forgets. we latch on to memories, our nostalgia thickens with each depressing year. i understand, fate leading blindly into whatever future we design, but still. to forget is to deny your past. remember it all. pass it downward.	LXVIII he, in trenchcoat and a death grip, wandered through the streets alone, surrounded by the darkness and solace of no one, nothing. rain beat in 4/4 time, the cadence of his life against the ground, beckoning. a police car drove by. millions of lives sped by. he, in trenchcoat and death grip, alone.
LXIX two in tango. two in repetition. two in stylized dance. two in free fall, in constant angles. two in life. two in death. two in cliche, in everything we've al ready said. two in rain, in steady down pours. two together. two apart. two at home, remembering when they were younger.	LXX when all was done and the lights were out, they spent the night devoured in each other, as candlewax congealed against the bedside table, flickering light bouncing round the room. this bed is an altar, these bodies sacrificial lambs to the slaughter. hours pass. her arm becomes his. they become one.
LXXI she whispered secrets in his ear, and he tried hard to forget them. there was this point when their hands touched and eternity was etched on their faces. and then it was gone, adrift in the wind like a leaf blowing over the ocean. he was destroyed, she was indifferent. one moment for it all.	LXXII the light bulb broke. and now i am cast in darkness. were i not alone, i would move. but i am alone, and so i do not move. there is no sun, this window's dark and all i have is pen to paper. in the dark all we write are secrets. the ink finds the paper and sinks into its fibers.
LXXIII i don't think people should eat during class. the crinkle of a plastic bag, the chomp of ice and teeth, the constant rustling and movement is the grandest distraction of all, grander than the fighting between lovers in the den in the morning. will i say something? of course not, that's just rude.	LXXIV nothing comes out of this room. just sleep and sex and computers. creativity slumbers in this room, leaves trails of drool on the pillow, snores all night, grinds its teeth, talks, talks, talks. pretends its awake when it's not. creativity, i love you, but you're not paying the rent like you ought to be.
LXXV lethargically i spun wonders in my mind, laid half dead on the couch, the bedroom, read shallow maga zines and made shallow thoughts about people i would never meet or if i did meet them, they would have none of me. i overtook my own senses and breathed in colors and made love to letters.	LXXVI - C