Five Sonnets

John Lowther

I’m going to finish cooking his hamburger at home.
I can’t imagine anyone positively aspiring to live there.
Buy some furniture or admit that inside you’re empty.
Orgasm is another over-blown notion whose ravages are incalculable.
As soon as you become physiological, it’s not much fun.
I’ve ceased to believe in sense, justice… in life.
Oh my God I love that song so much.
The class of guys whose names are action verbs.

I just bought a pair of Minnie Mouse pasties.
You’ve been carrying that negative programming for a long time.
Of course men have nipples as well as women.


It confused the boundaries between the animate and inanimate, human and machine, male and female, sexualized and sexless, and ultimately life and death.
I would wear flower petals as my eyelashes or go to a club in roller skates and a blonde Afro wig.
Don’t be tempted by flesh.
I resisted.
More Americans receive mental health treatment in prisons and jails than in hospitals or treatment centers.
For the occupation lines on forms I put “poet,” but, I don’t know, I feel like other people should say whether I’m a poet, not me.


One should never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner.
But I want to emphasize that this is not the course I have taken.
You can’t begin to imagine the life you denied yourself.
It always just ends up looking real doodoo-buttery.
You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.
This wine certainly tastes a dollar cheaper.
Listen to the people who come inside you.
That’s like hypnotizing chickens.
All that remains are memories.
That was our heaven, see.
Bury the yawns Bucko.
I’m still in prehab.
You are weak.


To have a system, this is what is fatal for the mind; not to have one, this too is fatal.
The machine has not separated us from nature; through it we have discovered a new nature never before surmised.
Now that I know that the impossible is merely exceedingly rare, I am free to desire without the pressure.
The victim’s body was found in a river in very dark water with a big stone on the head.
I call it the Jazz ball because it wobbles and you simply can’t do anything with it.
My sexuality is not wanting to exist.


The following tale of sexual depravity contains adult material.
She’s sobbing because her husband has gotten incredibly grotesquely weird.
Sometimes physical manifestations may occur including skin lesions.
Please accept and appreciate our most utter shame and humility.
Sodomy and falconry are the sports of kings.
Nice dick, asshole.
After all, it was an occasional, logical by-product of butt-fucking.
The potency of this life is often staggering.
The focus will be exclusively on skills with the puck.
It’s the beak from one of the birds.
Also he’s real.

You must have noticed that morons, psychotic losers and narcissists abound on this site.


John Lowther’s work appears in the anthologies, The Lattice Inside (UNO Press, 2012) and Another South: Experimental Writing in the South (U of Alabama, 2003), and Stone, River, Sky: An Anthology of Georgia Poems (Negative Capability Press, 2015). Held to the Letter, co-authored with Dana Lisa Young is forthcoming from Lavender Ink. John works in video, photography, paint and performance. His dissertation-in-progress tries to reimagine psychoanalysis with intersex and transgender lives as pointers toward our ever-expanding subjective potential.

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