I came across this good idea, Tom Beckett riffing on an idea from Jim McCrary - that a sonnet could be fourteen words, though Jim's poem is a fourteen line poem, each line of fourteen words. I wrote a number of sonnets this year and last year, but thought I might just try this idea. Not sure how it goes, but no harm in trying.

Material quivers even something away underneath dark clangs down patterns breeze place unravels moving

The mallet squeaks against its material echo and hovering crack around the wind blows

Constructs nails chocks the circular alarm quivers then stilled heart pulse and hot wind

The image is in the language but you cannot find it there even looking

Wind hustles along fortunes opinions always something said done nothing blanks road you’re on

Letters fall away into pages into paper all layers and pulp scratchings birds eat

Carry away grass to nest a parcel of lies the lies are again underneath

Always lived by seeing how love proceeds the thin path from the dark room

Remembering layers force fuse metal breach clangs nothing is effortless wings have their motion

Ichor across the concept insect brushed aside and down the page easier than blood

How thick waters and patterns perhaps reflective or dull as perceived the spinning machine

Diesel rushes up tatters day gone sun crows clouds outlines washing black in breeze

Take me down slowly into that place an empty room you’ve been in before

Sky never disappears and if it did that’s bad the road home unravels familiar

Filling in the blanks but land slides years filled with minutes within the moving


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