Inventions (Michael Antman), Sonnet #570

 

We live where light and rust

Mount in measured layers

Like lovers without lust,

Or gods without prayers.

Who invented the bridge,

That fluvial sacrilege,

Or endless skyscrapers

Assailed by old newspapers?

They can’t blot out the sky

Or dry up the rivers —

Just twist the eye awry

Till the brainstem quivers.

Throw light on slabs of glass

And vertigoes will pass.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:

My Human Disguise.

The Gate Contained (Michael Antman), Sonnet #561

 

The visitor etched the word “act.”

I don’t know why inside a heart.

Call it a moment of found art,

All gesture and little impact.

We’re staring out of a lost room

Through a cracked and discolored frame.

Bayside, metals and water boom.

The bright red bridge, in glorious bloom,

Guardian of what went and came,

Is like all things only a name.

With wrought iron and steel cable,

Men can create. They’re capable

Of containing the setting sun

But must let go when day is done.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:

My Human Disguise.