Classic Poem

One has to wonder if it can be called cathartic to fortify fairyland with a little rawhide. Obliquity demands a unicorn. The unicorn demands obliquity. But what rivets are called for if there is a preference for sonnets? The sonnet is a restricted form and flashes pinions and bubbles because it is invoked in the same way as an orchestra. We can do without them but it is gray and TV. I would rather inhabit a sonnet than harbor a habit. Habits force us to oppose commencement. Commencement is panoramic. Sonnets are bells. Or legislature. Because they are provoked in the same way as eucalyptus. Because they are provoked in the same way with leaves and it is a view of Neptune if a lens is added which is why they are so chromatic. They are not only justfiable they are fervent and tinfoil because they eternally remind us of twine. Because if they are varied with wallpaper it is like a nativity to send them overseas. Sonnets were always once allowed quietly to require rhyme which made them affirmative and quiver. Like a river. Which is why they sometimes extrude red or churn with occurrence. Which makes them silver. Which is what they do they reveal currents and engrave themselves on our minds. As if the world were something to endure, or generalize. Because today it is better than believing in weddings. It is a mistake to believe a sonnet can simulate formaldehyde. But only if it is made of rules. Otherwise it will roll away and become a romance. To find that it may do so is everything because if it is this cello leaning against the wall then a room is necessary to put it in and it is very much as to rags and better needed with programs the best of it coming to palliate nature parts of it already having come to rub against the flashlight and focus Rembrandt. The sonnet begins as a body of words and ends as an engine of thought. It longs to be rumbling. It rumbles to achieve rubber. It clusters in pronouns. It does everything except star Ben Affleck. Because if it did that it would be a movie and not a form of weather. Emotions are weather. Emotions are weather with cows and radar. Emotions are weather with organs and ornaments. Sonnets are tangents with catamarans and scrotums. Sometimes you can see a ceramic in them turn sunrise and sand. An exhalation will bring them to life. A thesis will mint their rhythm into hectic coins. One by one the metaphors exert such pressure on the words they explode into garlic. They ripen. They congeal. They swell into fruit. You can taste them. They taste of cherry and time. They taste of blackberry and rhyme. They melt in the mouth. They make perfect companions. They turn values to nuts and we crack them and find counsel and life.