Sonnet: A Thinking Man's Planet
by John Kendall Hawkins
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There are days when I can't hear myself think,
days the white noise clamor inside my head
rains, rains lamentoso tears of the dead
fugal selves, after-images -- think, think --
of multi-selves projected -- think, think, think --
across time, Bach math figures, ancient tense
marriages of linguistic convenience.
Trudging through slop, we go -- think, think, think, think --
Ego (or alter?) -- think, think, think, think, think
Super and Ids, stooges knee-deep in spongy
memory on a wet planet, grungy,
seeking sun domes -- think, think, think, think, think, think --
I feel sure I once loved as a lion --
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