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Feminine Endings

We've worn out yet another Anno Domini. We're twelve months - if not wiser - surely older. You call it a relationship, this boulder which hangs about me like a Shi'ite's bomb, and he, at least, can choose his cut-off point. From shoulder to knee, I'm (still) more Goldie Hawn than Golda Meir, but we don't flow. We ooze. Like hominy grits, turgidly. But denser. Stodgier. Colder. Where once fizzed electricity, hums static. The best and worst of me is best termed "womanly" - irrational, irascible, erratic. I'm sure my verse is worse. Tot up each billable pretentious periphrastic polysyllable. But you? You're spenter, deader than Mitt Romney.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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Date: 3/8/2017 2:25:00 AM
Wow... That's a despiteful sonnet with a lot of anger. There are a lot of words there I had never heard of, like hominy, I had to look that up. A relationship, not only turned cold, but sour, bitter... Great sonnet.
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Darren White
Date: 3/8/2017 6:55:00 AM
Yes, you did. That rhyme IS difficult.
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Michael Coy
Date: 3/8/2017 6:49:00 AM
I'm always grateful, Darren. I tried to use some especially difficult rhymes in this one.