Aught, no. 13 (2004)
Lisa Mansell
Sonnet 4
I made my home
mal and dime
along the unlisten
of twt lols
of mime
and a migldi-magpie’s aim
wasps that tilt and still stings
lisp-spilling
a cracow spotting ackrock
across
the kracened sea’s sixty eyes
creeping sweet
ond
grac
my
déjà vu is jude and aged
grappled
on the lead-pipe grin
floating as fiddles to viols to fogs
unalive but unsleeve-greened
and
furled as faded daffodils
ides
bile inside the library boat
an
arab-dance barbed in sand
Sonnet 10
lilac and kettled
on a lift-lown wool
I’m mime and emerald moss
a
million’s lament smiles and dovetails
my
mile and mermaid arms
mimic dams against
the armada’s lean and marl
as
elms slam and lily the marble’s pearl
masts in schisms music their storms from ember
like-as
like-as elk lapping
long
knowledge from an empty limpid
a
pious in appropriate piws
all
liquid and nil on an alloys belly
I pen in open and oil
pipes
as
the quartet cracks aquamarine
into
quinces and colds of sequence
Sonnet 12
bass
as a labia blowing its orb
the
belly-dance sands dandy and olden-day
a ball labelled emblem
inside
a bracken rib-cage brick and necked
ghosts slug and guts their eggs
fastened
in far-off morphology
an
again-again of guttural tugs
from
pharaoh-wifes washed in white flings
this is not theirs
a host lunar in gas and oats
them is not their
they
but
a year of uttered uggs that under-umberella
dolphins
that sniff at the flux
afraid
of the serif that first rifts at the fly
Copyright © 2004, by the author.
All rights reserved.
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