195
Sonnets From Other Lives: Hank

The man he used to be looked out at him
from the photograph. How many years
ago was that? He thinks he might have been
nineteen or so—way back when the beer
still brought out his brighter, bolder self—
before the blurry, bloated dullard in the mirror
with his breakfast PBR drank to his health
& hopelessness. Sometimes in his clearer
moments he can still recall those days—
when as the party’s life he held the stage
& everybody laughed & loved the way
everything for him was fun & games
& the girls were game & grinned with drunken lust.
Now they just avert eyes in disgust.

194
Sonnets From Other Lives: Vincent

She had a way of blending into things
about as well as gasoline & water.
I saw her by the fireplace—her wings
tickling the drunk vampire that brought her
to the party. She—a sullen angel—
floated in the room over the cheerful
hoard of nattering masqued suburbanites.
Her face on second look was really fearful
underneath that angry boredom. As the night
dragged on I wondered how the girl
that used to set all our minds on fire
with desire to beautify the world
with our art wound up hosting retired
drones & trophy wives for charity.
She must have just surrendered (much like me).

193
Sonnets From Other Lives: Alf

When he was on the paint would seem to flow
directly from his mind onto the surface
of the canvas. For days he would go
without sleep. A manic, focused purpose
driven rush of creativity
followed by a blackhole week of funk.
The pictures piled up but he had to flee
the studio for his flat & then get drunk
while the darkness had its way with him.
Of course the cycle couldn’t go forever.
He loved the highs—the pictures sold but then
the art went bad & crazy— voices gathered.
He refused the safe dullness of lithium
& opted in its stead to buy the gun.

192
Sonnets From Other Lives: Walt

He spent most of the summer by himself.
When Mom left for work he would get up
& ride his bike. In his mind he cast a spell
over the quiet labyrinthine pavement of
his suburban neighborhood. It disappeared
& was replaced by a string of lurid stories.
His adventures spun around his head like gears
of his derailleur. T.V. shows were boring
compared to the tales he spun
on those muggy summer afternoons.
He stopped watching—hardly spoke to anyone.
When he wasn’t riding he was in his room—
it was for him a kind of meditation—
living in a world of his own narration

191
Sonnets From Other Lives: Perry & Helen

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of the scar
that marred the otherwise classic proportions
of the woman in the subway car.
From eye to jaw it ran—like the distortion
of a cracked mirror—the pieces didn’t fit.
That face could be on any magazine cover—
made up—coiffed—really he could see it—
the jagged tear would be photoshopped over…
He thought no doubt she sensed his covert stare.
His fascination could not be original.
She’d be good at pretending not to care
about unwanted attention. All subliminal
cultural signals we use to define allure
were rendered irrelevant by her.

3
Histories: God King

It was the Nile that obeyed the Pharaoh.
He was the god that made the river flood.
Those floods watered the desert & that narrow
strip of green & fertile cropland was
what served as their civilization’s spine.
The Pharaoh then provided everything
even life to his people. The shrines
put up to pay homage to the king
were erected to adorn the public spaces
so that thousands of years later we can gaze
at the icons of those royal faces.
But upon death their splendid royal graves
were hidden away—buried secretly—
lest mortals find & rob their deity.

11
Sonnets From Other Lives: Bunny

The Queen reclines in her hospital bed--
the proverbial elephant in the living room
crowding the atmosphere with things unsaid
& a too awkward proximity to doom.
When my world was all carpools, PTA,
the battlefields of marriage—raising kids,
who knew cancer would melt all that away
& leave a sense that everything I did
followed a script? I met my engineer
right out of high school. Married. Pregnant. Plopped
into a ranch house. He had his career
& I had children. How did that stop
time? How is it that now I feel I
stood rooted while the whole wide world flew by?

3
Histories: Settling

After millennia spent wandering—
following migrations of wild beasts—
some beasts are caught tamed into working
the fields--ancient mysteries of seeds
are revealed. The land will become owned.
Aggressive men are warriors & kings.
The rest will till the land—work in the home--
provide their betters with fine crafted things--
& placate the willful god or gods
that move the forces of nature & fate
with esoteric rituals & laws.
Some become artists & create
things of beauty—some of which will last
long enough to cast a glimmer on the past.

190
Sonnets From Other Lives: Sam

People used to call him a go-getter.
So he went & got—grasping for something
more—something bigger—something better.
His life personified The American Dream—
the biggering-- the bettering--the owning.
He competed--powered through adversity--
franchised his inspirations--cloning
ideas into strip-malled ubiquity.
He had it all they said. Then the forgetting
started. He forgot that rules applied
to him. He forgot names. He was getting
lost. He didn’t know that deep inside,
his brain was disassembling like sieve.
Eventually he just forgot to live.