Sonnet Mau

These men sliced by time do not perdure

under the red bar lights awaited by I
this mulch traipsing underfoot, my red eye
under many conditions shall not endure.
You remember the scratch rhythms of the Danube
our leisure was the first to excerpt? Not die
atop a swivelling Dutch chair stepped by
coarser beings for decades. Here unsure
at my making I rise and look for thorough
pillows to furnish tomorrow’s gross house
a social function—my cycle of yearning
has me forgiven, right past tomorrow
and lying inert for you to douse
with the next drink, invested earnings.