Wednesday, April 20
SONNET Must I anger and must my anger pearl, My anger pearl, must I pearl, must I polish Madness daily, rub nacre into a world Perfect, round, what in my hand should finish As wound deepened by wound? Not jewel, not gem, Not beauty, not gem. I am this anger. Must each note aria I mean as requiem, I mean requiem, mean dirge, must one finger Bear the weight of every word, set in gold, Hand held so the pearl catches the angle Of light, and glowing, says, "I am betrothed." Betrothed? I am small terror wed to wild Rhyme. We must climb inside the world to live. A sand-grain in the mind tells us to survive. (Dan Beachy-Quick)