The Bloom and Gloom Sonnet
We’ve but one light to give in all the gloom of the wide quotidian universe, where darkness rules and leaves us in the lurch, searching where poetry will never bloom. One light, what for? Teleologists cry. Heine tells us such questions are useless. Paper tiger fixations and toothless approximations of the tea leaf sky. Science is telling us these days life’s rife -- billions of earths in the Milky alone: We aren’t special at all: O Poor John Donne, who so wanted to be a good midwife! Well, fuck it, I’ve tried; done my time: I’m through with the wide sarcastic ravishing blue.