Tonight, the sonnet is my body. Thick girl
with a volta. I stir a deep pot with my hips 
& quit denying my whims. I am what I 
pay attention to. Sonnet, stay me like a corset. 
See me floundering? I crave boundaries, 
an iron maiden made of cake & sable. 
I feel myself resisting the firm door, though I 
could not want it more. Tug my necklace, 
little song. I have forgotten where to break, 
when to bend, how to trust surprising shapes
my velvet form intuitively makes. I hide
fat rhymes. I am larger inside. Thick girl 
yearning to turn, to plow like a verse 
through a hot field, curving every level plot— 
& no one gets to tell me when to stop.