The Jane Sonnet

[3]

My good works lie halfway between the sidewalk

& the shit-covered lawn. Truth in the body of silver-blue

Flies. The spattered flim-flam turgid plungings are no more

Repugnant than your look that says: “become me.” Fancy

More than long-tipped cigarettes plus bopping music

For happy gays. We dance because we don’t want to move

Or be moved. Is it ‘cos I’m cool? We’ve qwerty’ed all

The last bastion bastards and typecast the sluts in their

Finest compacts, bits of powder and flesh clinging to the bones

Of the skinniest rock stars, the bourbon-drenched beautiful.

Answer me the riddles of autumn, the finest season & the streets

Of Sausalito (which is also a cookie) that beckon and shunt,

Spewing pansied beauty about. A quiet lunch at Zuni

Café. A moment alone with my three favorite molting birds.