“Sonnet About Colin Farrell,” “Sonnet for Henry”

Sonnet About Colin Farrell

The negotiations do not always have to fail

A man who claims to be a 30 year old called Dylan

Is, in fact, 42 and named after a slant rhyming European city

And I don’t manage to get off regardless.

Another curious case, the Australian doctor who went on

About having the sexy accent and did in fact have the accent

The first time I met him, though months later, burnt, befreckled,

Sounded like Colin Farrell. In his bathroom I found a signed print

hope you enjoyed your stint down under, mate it says and anyhow

I couldn’t get off that time either. But the admitted Irish guy

I might love after all I told him You look like Colin Farrell

Because he does, or because I want him to, or because

Really I think I look like Colin Farrell, and I wanted him

To correct me. It’s hard to keep track of which are the side effects.

Sonnet for Henry

In Henry’s house there are a lot of things I’ve never seen before

And plenty of things I have. After him

All of life’s keys in lividity are modulated

I pick up his camouflage jacket and bring it to my face

The empty holster too and taste something ripe and precious

The inside of his sweaty shredded boots.

He said, man you’re gonna like it out here

About the mountains he loved and had many private names for

So private he wouldn’t even give me a hint

No I never did meet the dog he had adopted and so suddenly

Returned I don’t think anyone he loved ever did though

In the back of the closet a leash and fresh tennis balls still

In stiff plastic– 3 pickled suns. We know all about the quality of mercy

How it disappears like spun sugar on a tongue– no, like something 

else