John Lowther

Sonnets from 555

All questions pertaining to sexuality are irrelevant under our present structures of thought
               because we have no idea how people in societies of Whole, Liberated, Individuals
               will relate to each other.
And you're really zen.
Why you don't dance.
Resistance is futile.
It is disgusting that I write anything.
Indelible ink must be used in all elections.
We cannot possibly interpret rituals concerning excreta, breast milk, saliva, and the rest
               unless we are prepared to see in the body a symbol of society, and to see the powers
               and dangers credited to social structure reproduced in small on the human body.


As long as they come in here with a dress on they're women.
Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.
I like the way the line runs up the back of their stockings.
For how you always looked, for how I always wanted to touch you.
We never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them.
Early in life I had to choose between honest arrogance and hypocritical humility.
You know what I am talking about so shut up.
Why this inability to leap out of the page and into the world.


What a death.
I buy the drugs.
Most importantly, you may wear anything.
That's what I call sneezing in the cabbage.
The fire that danced at the end of that match was a gift from the god Prometheus.
The dominant form of self-importance these days is mockery.
You have a disease.
That just proves that it is possible to die of self-respect.
Perhaps because you've always been a part of Shangri-La without knowing it.
Anatomy is clearly an imaginary facticity.
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone ranger.
They eat scum.
Life is life.


Alcohol is pretty dependable, people on the other hand are surely not.
But in the absence of some transcendental position from which to
               make the distinction, the sequestration of causes from the effects
               they produce creates a fatal separation, such that nothing remains
               to guarantee the very connection one has set out to explain —
               namely, the link between the cause and the field of effects.
Choosing the perfect hairstyle starts before you look at any photos or a visit your hairdresser.


I've seen her in a bra she just don't know it.
There is no sense talking to her about anything as whatever you say will end up
               confirming whatever crazy idea she had before you opened your mouth.
Keep in mind, however, that just because she seems to be having a good time
               dancing with you doesn't necessarily mean she likes you off the dance floor.
From the day the baby was born, she began to get irritated with everything
               around her.
Even so, she really ought to pick up those socks.


A party that is attended solely by denim-clad people.
This reality keeps me busy with its constant pressures.
There is too much of everything and not enough of nothing.
That hiss you hear is an oxygen recirculation unit.
Our failure to refuse the system is the system.
Linkages count against in this scenario.
To touch these wires is instant death.
Outer space is a practical myth.
Another box, another cage.
I got out of it years ago.
Grammarians, rejoice.
My ass hurts.


Great poets write poems that are full of vivid pictures; we love the pictures,
               because they are full of energy, vitality, and love of life.
One size fits most.
Remove her top slowly.
I would repaint this room white.
There's a squirrel in the attic.
This hot cutie likes it hardcore.
Do not iron clothes on body.
You bumped into the ceiling which now has to be washed and sterilized.
I got up one morning, made breakfast, went to the bus stop, got on a bus.
In the absence of proof, no one can honestly say that isn't you.


We agreed; softly softly monkey monkey.
Let it go.
I want to fondle and probe it, breathe on it.
               You feel you owe something, or you're afraid of being alone, and so you "work"
               at your relationship, like a prisoner in Siberia ice-picking away at
               the erotic permafrost.
It stinks.
The word got greased.
Infinitists endorse the regress as well, but argue that the regress is not vicious
               and hence does not show that justification is impossible.
It's a collective effort of disgustingness.


I feel the car.
You can try.
I need cuddle.
You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
So I went commercial.
You better work it.
I don't want to tell you about the bloating.
You think I'm some half-baked sex maniac.
I can’t buy love but I don’t want to rent it either.
You have to cheat me to beat me.
I finally got up the courage to buy my first cock.
You didn't say anything about diagramming sentences.
I want to skype and talk about poetry or some bullshit I don’t know.


Welcome to the meme of tears.
You always get more respect when you don't have a happy ending.
Your notions of love and sex are being shaped by your fascination with
               Victorian literature.
The screws are different too.
You could find a lover boy on every damn corner in town.
A bit of academic lingo and a star can now capitalize on the pre-existing
               lordosis position of his fan base.
There is nothing wrong with it.
Civilization I recalled as my premise is the sewer.


I masturbated for a long time before I understood it was masturbation.
The work is not yours to finish, but neither are you free to take no part in it.

It was the content of his observations that showed the intellectual abyss.
Before long, the slight tingling became something more.

I’ve gotten better at managing it.

A hand really is my favorite toy, though.
The gun is just in case of complications.

Women are from Venus, men are from New Jersey.
I had read about them on the Internet.

Note on the Text

f: (Rage + Database ÷ Shakespeare ± Fuckery) → ≈ (¬ Expectation, ⊧ Poetry) —
If that doesn’t clarify things enough, or you want to read more sonnets,
click: 555

You can find out about John Lowther’s work at his poetry blog where there are many links to online poubellications and details about a few of his ongoing projects. Or if you prefer the tangible, pick up one of these anthologies An Atlanta Poets Group Anthology: The Lattice Inside (UNO Press, 2012) or Another South: Experimental Writing in the South (U of Alabama, 2003) or wait for Held to the Letter (co-authored with Dana Lisa Young) due from Lavender Ink in 2015.
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