Sonnet | Nicholas Bon
as a finch sings outside my window: All the small
details I forget in a day are oil trapped in paper
coffee filters, fine wine in my cheap mouth.
A mournful balloon deflates, the party long over.
Each person, hungover, tries to avoid the boom
and bright lights of the world outside. Alas,
I was never Catholic—though I suspect I’d be
good at it. I live my own life as if it was a virtue
to be hesitant. Nowhere but in the belly of fiction
does suffering become holy—Cleanliness, Godliness.
Here, in the overgrown yard, an '88 Buick rusts
under the great table saw of the sky. The sun sets
behind a knotted fence. I need somewhere I can hide
my body too—set it aside, forget about it for a while.
Nicholas Bon lives in Tallahassee. They are the author of My Circus Mouth (Ghost City Press, 2018) and the founder of Epigraph Magazine. Their recent poems can be found in Juked, Heavy Feather Review, Witch Craft Magazine, and elsewhere.
Personal Website: nicholasbon.com