SONNET 113
Loner imagination -- this entire realm spies
Your warden predisposed to it facing noonbreak,
(All our time equates) are spaces spelling with cries,
Taxing provocations and incentives on crates
Those seats coucher the next Arabesque polity.
Fostered strenuo'sly aired th' admiral further,
For Truth and Life cannot themselves accompany
Each other. Truth sands the stone and one 'gainst th' other
Tones it back life's corrosive peregrination.
Twin-born terrors -- suffused by Mercy's Love gift chance
T' realize: one's paralyzed slight, tribulations
Graced 'ccounting wretches meant greater prefigured march.
Calliope, Calliope, I beseech thee!
Inspiration's other name, anyway writes me.
