[syndicate] Sonnet

[Alan Sondheim]

Sonnet

One quarter of my life remains to me.
One fifth, one sixth, one seventh.
The thickness of the world = deathbed spirituality.
Call ontology what you will = thick mantle of flesh.
Barrel of flesh = warmth in winter, food in drought.
More and more I recognize _I inhabit myself._
The body = burial shroud.
No other is needed = the other is always needed.
I turn around and recognize world other than my mother.
The mind stumbles to comprehend radical difference.
Radical difference = strangulation of the mesh.
One eighth of my life remains to me.
Listen! These are the worlds of an _already-ghost._
Flesh and bone = beautiful nudity.
"We are all holes under the hammer of god."