Sonnet – My written self
My written self takes to the boulevard,
No dozing couch, no thick-thumbed oyster eye,
No raddled failing sense of self-regard,
It smiles, is welcomed, waved to, seen as fly
My written self can help and sympathise
Unburdened by my masculinity,
Can speak with tongues and even improvise
A risky link with femininity.
My written self is sleek and plausible
A world aside from knobbled northern clay
Sneak-thieving, seeming quite adorable
But seeking love without intent to pay.
I am both things: the skills, if such they be,
Within the hulk of incapacity.
Last night: A modern piano - absolute yet unostentatious
virtuoso technique - a piece composed for just that instrument.
Yamaha, Stephen Hough, César Franck’s “Prelude, chorale and fugue." Turned mi backbone to jelly.
Novel progress 3/12/09. Ch.7: 333 words. Chs. 1 - 6: 28,702 words. Comment: Hatch in The Big Apple (make that Crab Apple).
