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Sonnet 041708
Walking steadfast towards the waiting rear
Prancing doll, awakening charges on
Grant, memoirs collide lubricate the gear
Pumm’ling in the depot to gain wars won
Pulling nerves, the support be adequate
Clutching to convolutions to make juice
Parcels come, conveyed inside a tight crate
Comp’lling stirs unable to crack fine fuse
Shouts of silence that bewilder the lump
Of gray and white through profound images
Delicate, no sense of an urge to bump
Because the fire’s shafts quickly cleavages
So what happens after being idle
The self disappears, sewed in a cradle
