Sonnet | Nicholas Bon

as a finch sings outside my window: All the small

details I forget in a day are oil trapped in paper

coffee filters, fine wine in my cheap mouth.

A mournful balloon deflates, the party long over.

Each person, hungover, tries to avoid the boom

and bright lights of the world outside. Alas,

I was never Catholic—though I suspect I’d be

good at it. I live my own life as if it was a virtue

to be hesitant. Nowhere but in the belly of fiction

does suffering become holy—Cleanliness, Godliness.

Here, in the overgrown yard, an '88 Buick rusts

under the great table saw of the sky. The sun sets

behind a knotted fence.  I need somewhere I can hide

my body too—set it aside, forget about it for a while.

Nicholas Bon lives in Tallahassee. They are the author of My Circus Mouth (Ghost City Press, 2018) and the founder of Epigraph Magazine. Their recent poems can be found in Juked, Heavy Feather Review, Witch Craft Magazine, and elsewhere.

Twitter: @1000000horses

Personal Website: nicholasbon.com