Honourable mention in the 1st Jackpine Sonnet Contest.
Jazz in my left ear, I whisper, I walk, I turn down an empty block to (verb)(subject)(object) of my affection. Patterns from a pattern-maker, one spool for a whipsawed sweater-maker, with jumper cables, to jump-start the alternator. You'll never guess what's in store, you could never imagine what putting God first will do for your eye-complexion, for your kidney floor, for your vexation, for your book report. That's just the way it goes when your prayers are reposed, when your kindness comes exposed, when you've lost your spoon in the soup, and no one's home. I wish for miles and miles of string, to make a cup-based telephone, and spin about in a padded wall alleyway. Indeed, I learned what Alas means (I used to think it: at last) because of you: my furnace, my heartstrings pulled taut, pulled fast, pulled tight.