Carl Bowers Poems

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We bend in the direction of the queen.
We make delight from their necessity;
What we call gift, they might cry robbery,
But they cry nothing; only labor on

Sonnet: 2/1997

All lights off, the D train stands for darkness.
Invisible, we somehow see ourselves:
As separate and yet as closely bound
As lovers in the sleep which follows passion,

Sonnet: 3/1992

I think that no one loves theology-
only lusts after it, imagining
that angels dance attendance on their words-
as if words could constrain the God of angels;

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