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March 4th, 2019

For Sonnet Monday:

Artifice, Peter Spagnuolo

The plastic Great Horned Owl, stuck with glue
on the stamped tin, corbelled cornice lip
impresses no one — not the starlings that dip
and stitch, nor pigeons as they fluff and coo
around its feet. And vinyl siding’s too
regular — each molded, faux-grained strip
identical, but for dents, and that drip
of bird shit from a sill. What if all you
might say speaks like crafted, ersatz things:
mimicry in a tongue you barely know?
Your owl signs death, the cornice stone, the fake
clapboard conjures farmhouse. While just below
the ledge, a wren’s mindless gestures make
an altar of twigs, in veneration of wings.

FWIW, published in 2013.


Subject quote from 32 Flavors, Ani DiFranco.

Originally posted at https://larryhammer.dreamwidth.org/716110.html (where it has comment count unavailable comments). You can comment here or there.