mmmdclxviii

Sonnet w/o a Shirt

     All I felt was fall in love.
          —Anselm Berrigan (on being in the apartment
             of Dodie Bellamy and Kevin Killian, from
             various notes on Kevin’s passing in Harriet)

“I’m not naked,” says this poem
directly into a smallish crowd of
mostly youthful human beings who
think to a person that they know what

love is. It was, of course, a distant
and dreamy time when the sex of
the lyric was always sexy. “Diiiig,”
proclaims the piece, who knows bet

ter than to stand under the naked sun 

w/their shirt off on such an unremarkable
Saturday afternoon. All of the humans
roll their eyeballs up until the insides of

their heads bleed, for they are the last hep
cats who can really soak up a trend (relish!).