SONNET 112
'We are all in the gutter. But some are looking at the stars.'
~ Oscar Wilde, De Profundis
By 'very word to its lore; by commons surge and horde
In singulars we clarify in dead sunlight
And make appeals too rarefied, too rarefied.
And create for ourselves sunsets worn-shower sored.
How plainly, irrefutably the manger in
Our hearts longed companion-peace, already this
Finds babbling's at fault th' words and phrases degen'rate;
Verse came healing malted oceans' air dissem'nate.
So hover its daze, in rhetoric or of ice
Pack sheets their language maced or laces with a price,
As demons might in its absense blight engenders,
Listening well, the water'f spirit remembers.
Come and yield no blame then, the standard of these rocks'
Platitude and fall; textured with life still shall mock.
