Sonnet 147

here’s tom!:

nicely, wonderfully, perfectly done! tom is a writer living in cambridge and one of the coolest people ever. the first time i met him was several years ago, and he was reading my job application at the cafe. one of the questions was “last three songs listened to.” i was out in the front waiting nervously the verdict. when he emerged from the kitchen and shouted “we love hot chip!” and gave me a thumbs up, i knew i had a chance at the job…

thank you tom!!!

Sonnet 147
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly express’d;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

1 Comment

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One response to “Sonnet 147

  1. oh, he is a dream! I love his reading

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