L e o n a r d   B r i n k

 

Sonnet

 

The ancient world balanced on the back of
turtles has a way of catching up with us in the
netherlands surrounding sleep where we are partly
stone and partly turned to smoke. The mown grass
moves beneath the still dog so that she seems to be
running along the blurred wall in the background. When
we say we are sleeping we refer only to the bodies we
wag in the daytime while our minds have their ears pinned
back into past lives where fleas and fleeing first began to
separate. Pulling a sled into the northwest corner of
your couch I return to the vomit of the age that forms the prevailing
ambiance of this one. A continual approach of skaters moves
like a chorus on a China-plated lake toward the day
when modernity itself will freeze over.

 

Leonard Brink is the co-editor of untitled, a magazine of Prose Poetry. You
can read an interview with Leonard, and his co-editor Jono Schneider, by
clicking here >>

 

 

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