Nothing Like the Sun | Poetry

Daniel Poppick

This is a sonnet about clarity. Some poets say clarity consists of An image they see. Scarlet tanager Rioting on the little branch. Some say It’s what they think. Fuck the fucking police. Others still say it’s a sound. Ding. Drop drip. Who cooks for you. Others want to capture Reality’s fleet disorder, proxy For whatever they believe that to be. I’ll love you forever. Our time is up. I...

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