Sonnet #5

e story always starts with slaves, a sucked-up swamp, some ill-placed railway, and generations worth of loot overstu ed into bags & bull-knotted around the ankles of the not yet dead. Later, the capital starts to play its bloody melody. Song of Solomon, your choice book in the good word. ere was a poet deep inside you when you said, you got to bring yours to get mine, when you curved orange and road, and planned a grandchild’s whooping. Like the perfect bend of a switch, the turn takes time to master. In the dream of life, this sonnet is the sole box you’ll sleep in.