Brandon Downing

SONNETS ABOUT THE REAL SUN 

1.

I see people heading into crowds of people.
I shake my head at the Old Kingdom.
Huddling together like that,
They’re all exposed to the bad news.
I want to drive away. They can’t discern
A single meaningful sound, other than
The percussive rush of blood.

Here’s a fact about Pharaoh—He farts,
And we all have to just sit there.
I’m supposed to believe the Sun itself
Has this agonized, squinching little face?
That the Sun can’t ride thirty feet without
Falling off his perfect pony? Fine. But I can
Damn well look up and see the real Sun. 

2. 

Would you buy that? Oh brother. Book’s out Son;
I got my check from the College, five million.
They found me a Pontiac Trace when I complained,
I drove out and did a reading in Iowa City
In front of angrily determined young women.
In my novel I—forget it, I can’t here.
Whatever someone reads can be re-expressed. 

Other writers want to break your neck.
I ought to bake them a tart, fill it with lead solder.
“You can put it right where the ad says to put it.”
Humming along like an offshore finance hub.
I’m sure you—what. It’s only the Sun. I’m not
Walking away until my kid’s manning that wheel.
Treating the sun like his own little ATM.

BRANDON DOWNING is a poet, visual artist, curator, and filmmaker. His published collections include The Shirt Weapon (2002), Dark Brandon (2005), At Me (2010) and Mellow Actions (2013). A monograph of his literary collages from 1996 to 2008, Lake Antiquity, was published by Fence Books in 2010. He's recently completed an inaccurate, visually-driven, sixteen-book translation of Euripides' The Bacchae.