Sonnets of Cosmo Nitram

The fault, Miss Tocsin, is in our bells
That all our nudity is evident
bent double to ring them
Clothing is only a second skin

However naked, surrender
to night a chorus of blessings
palming your hate like a trick ball
between thumb and forefinger
dropped down the sleeve
of a fully clothed magician

Bask in a deck chair in bald Sol
collecting sunlight in braided beams
Age is everything youth cannot be
flown south for the millennium

Robert Hunter Personal Archives