Sonnet Poem by Jay Alexander

If I write a sonnet, I must confess
It's quite a stress; first pick your
Form, Shakespearean, or address
The Petrarchan style; now, more

Or less, I'm wedded to both, but
It's a rope trick, of the Indian kind.
If you find yourself, simply, in a rut,
Swallow your pride, head out blind,
See what turns up, and trumpet
It, as if to bowl-over millions, then
No tear shed, even if you dump-it.
For Art is everything, even when
You are out of luck start again,
Which is like love, a one true friend.