Possible chairs. Impossible chair.
Thought prints like graphite on white stone,
No less real than drawing on air.
(One is the only one unknown.)
The rocker can’t stop and will fall.
Not every three-legged stool stands.
The bentwood arm chair has no front.
The best words, written with an awl,
Are those that no-one understands,
Like this, an impossible stunt.
Don’t tell me these chairs are not real.
You might as well say pairs won’t peel,
That a compass can square the wheel,
Or that what is dead is ideal.
My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:
