On the Sonnet

Billy Spencer cuts the heads off dolls, drives
a red, red truck scrapped by rusted steel, kills
the butts of deer. Dylan seen him shoot an arrow
through a clear glass beer, a Belgian bottled ales.
The yarns he'd spin--you'd never know
he was crazy then. Italian. Helped derive

the wicked things making Dylan much akin
to the those-before-him, like him. Dylan never
will get "iffyish" like some did. Billy, on the other,
went ahead with it, selfishly departing Mind in dance :
: a graceful giggle with lips pursed, hands clasped,
eyes drifting together in appeal to lighting:

Poor Billy: you had to bring me into this dramatic mess.
Winter is approaching, hoarding in season. The humor
drains chromatically from the leaves, the branches.
You are a packrat, & this you will be known for.
"Now yes, you make a good point, but American verses
must be tendered to fit well in homes, theatres, & caskets."