Joy (cithra) wrote,


I'm going mad, or madder still today -
my thoughts thump in meter of the sonnet.
I know the origin of the malaise:
yon book, the name John M. Ford upon it.
The title, Heat of Fusion, failed to warn;
as did its presence on the SF shelf;
Ford's verse on Making Light was what I'd known -
forgetting that brought doom upon myself.

It isn't fatal; truth, it's almost fun.
The catch? His colors sparkle, mine are dun.
Tags: poem

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