Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.64.0611130829380.20426@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: Sonnet
Date: Mon, 13 Nov 2006 08:29:54 -0500 (EST)
Sonnet One quarter of my life remains to me. One fifth, one sixth, one seventh. The thickness of the world = deathbed spirituality. Call ontology what you will = thick mantle of flesh. Barrel of flesh = warmth in winter, food in drought. More and more I recognize _I inhabit myself._ The body = burial shroud. No other is needed = the other is always needed. I turn around and recognize world other than my mother. The mind stumbles to comprehend radical difference. Radical difference = strangulation of the mesh. One eighth of my life remains to me. Listen! These are the worlds of an _already-ghost._ Flesh and bone = beautiful nudity. "We are all holes under the hammer of god."