Sonnet on Autism #6

I am ashamed to write you,

because I am always too clever-clever,

while you are always too ass-ass

and always right.

*

I am always at best

slightly wrong and left behind,

making up for the mistakes,

putting myself straight,

*

while you are the luxury of a mistake,

put in the world so properly

to laugh at and to laugh at me.

*

I do wrong; you are wrong.

And in between lies all the difference

between being justified or not.

 

Sonnet on Autism #7

All play and no work makes jack

a very dull boy indeed. All play

and no jack means jack can’t get

nothing off the ground anyway.

*

Though he try and try and try

and play and play and play,

he just can’t get It to work

out right. Never mind. We are all just jacks

in a pack of knaves

and some of us work out alright,

and some fall through the cracks,

and some just jack off.

And that’s that.

That’s the way it goes.

 

Sonnet on Autism #8

There is no-one out there.

You know that at least

and that is the most significant

and damaging thing anyone can know:

that no prayer can get through

the fog and frost around our always

already rusted drains of eyes and ears.

And touching is always just

clutching at sucking straws.

Everything is agitation.

We are all better off dead.

*

Solipsism is the last refuge

of the scoundrel repentant

and the homepage of one who always knew.

 

Sonnet on Autism #9

close all stores, eyes & mouths

or better still just close

because we who are already always

closed as blessed stones know

*

there is no blooming reason

to flower out into the world

& make a mess of it

as we will

*

we will our selves into being

because we are pulled by others

who cannot really love us

*

you close off to a point

& knowing that there is no point

point to that

*

with my closed eyes in your hands

& we are somehow close