=The Asperger Sonnets=

Everything turns into writing.
—Ted Berrigan

4.
All in real the universe thing
real magic in all    

of people, I say nothing anymore

the most magic discovered

like stones in a field erected

twenty-five centuries ago smothered

in hieroglyphs

universe is the all thing

the real in most—    

nothing!

where are the strange lights

in the sky

here I am abandoned

it’s a mystery to me.

5.

I still don’t know the grackle bone

flame on a hill, the earring lost,

always diving after crumbs

first in line when the swing door shuts

here it comes, check your gums,

an anthill climbs

in the dirt with stick you stir

the honeybees, the  hunchback

with the pretty wife

the knife from the kitchen sink

nothing makes sense

over the fence the lobbing stones

no one answering the phones

ten pins in cork, one windy afternoon.

6.

I am drifting at my profound center.

I have ears

full of water.

Yes, the television is sweet.

It’s a bland hand to be dealt

in defeat. I see eternally, a delicate torque

resplendent and obscure in primary colors.

I am a lonely secretary in a morass.

But I truly aspire to the tournament of hours

blue and delicate

enamored of the lean-to.

The cobra with the celibate numeral

questions me, contrary to the mirage.

I have a parasite for posterity.