What it is

June 2010: In a desperate attempt to stave off senility, the monkey began writing a poem a day. By summer's end he'd begun to run out of versified political rants and philosophical bloviations. Then he hit on the improbable idea of writing micro fiction in the form of Elizabethan sonnets. Eureka. The birth of the "Sonnets From Other Lives" series. Two hundred plus lives later, he's still at it.

Monday, November 29, 2010

11/29
Sonnets From Other Lives: X

He reaches in his pocket for his keys.
Nothing. No key. No coins. No wallet.
No pocket. No pants. No identity.
This malady—whatever should we call it?
Aren’t there multisyllabic Latin names
for sudden total losses of existence?
Undiagnosed--he know cannot claim
compensation from his health insurance,
for it may be his condition preexisted—
& now he’s fallen into a relapse
where the fibers of his being came untwisted
& like a star, he’s suddenly collapsed
into the nether regions of his soul:
Event horizon. Singularity. Black hole

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