A sample from 44 Sonnets — one of the sonnet-almost-every-day poems I wrote in January and February of last year, considerably revised:
Walking at Lunchtime With an iPod On Patuxent River Naval Air Station
That swan's not native, either, but I'm cold,
While he, so nonchalantly graceful, rides
This slate-grey inlet rimmed in manifold
Frail icy layers piled by waves and tides.
My playlist's poetry, while overhead
A T-2 Buckeye loses altitude,
Dragging "a flower like a froth, and dead"
Through chaos to "DNA molecule is the nude …"
And here, beside unswerving coon tracks, lies
A duck encased in ice. I stoop to see
What happened, but I can't. That's no surprise.
I play at death in code and poetry.
Stiff-kneed, I stand and prod it with my shoe
Before returning to the work I do.