11/21
Sonnets From Other Lives: Nemo

On this malominous morning it was clearer--
another chance to master disappointment—
another confrontation with the mirror--
another horal egoist's appointment
with his dubious identity.
Who was this hoary-eared oblique impostor
who rendezvoused with him relentlessly?
How came this darkness to be fostered?
Clouds were boiling up somewhere outside—
burascoes building up bent on a burst
of impossibly bright agonizing light.
Oy –he thinks—come on then. Do your worst.
Whoever I am I am bound to be
the wind’s plaything—the disembodied leaf.