Non-Sonnet for Telling You Everything
Like how high banjo trills make me go
electric.
Like how charity. Like how gold.
Like I’d like to take you in and feed you a little
sweet milk. Like you’d mind, but I’m so
tired of honesty like California fault lines.
Like how this is the big moment.
Like, now.
Like how cuteness rules the dating quadrants.
Like how sexy. Like when I say you look good
in white linen, I mean sheets. Like I’d like to
rob your booty bank. Like how I’d take my
winnings to the grave.
Like how charity. Like how gold.
Like I’d like to take you in and feed you a little
sweet milk. Like you’d mind, but I’m so
tired of honesty like California fault lines.
Like how this is the big moment.
Like, now.
Like how cuteness rules the dating quadrants.
Like how sexy. Like when I say you look good
in white linen, I mean sheets. Like I’d like to
rob your booty bank. Like how I’d take my
winnings to the grave.
***
Non-Sonnet for the Phrase “But I Believe.”
This afternoon slowly flaking away in
sheaths.
3:00 grandfathered in. Collector’s stamps
accidentally licked and posted, the
Basil Dove
heckling the rest of the postal
pouch.
Leaves faking change and then the
guard.
To the waitress I said wondermeat
meaning
wonderment.
Meaning I wonder where you are, and
how you spend your wooden
nickels. Every cup
of coffee after noon counts as
addiction but nothing
compared to how much I miss you. Your gleeful,
airless laugh. Your lashes lashing. Languishing.
Pinioned stars say I am both born and
dying
in love’s mystery. Penelope weaving and unweaving
her weaving. I say I do not believe. I do not believe.
Betsy Wheeler
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