Diane Seuss; or when is a sonnet not a sonnet?

[Majestic Sun]

Since I joined Pig Pen I also started reading poetry again offsite.  I've dipped into Louise Gluck, Li Po, Jay Wright, Allen Tate and others, most new to me.  Yesterday I stumbled across Diane Seuss.

What intrigued me was an ad for her most recent book called frank: sonnets (2021).  Now I've been on Pig Pen long enough to know how many of us will say these are not really sonnets and I'd be among them.  But her poems are gold, in my opinion.  I'm going to transcribe one of the "frank sonnets" here.  I think it's fair use since I'm basically pimping her book 

So you can decide:

I met a man a dying man and I said me too.
Met a dead man and I said me too.  Must be
dead cuz the living can't meet the dead and he
said me too.  Did you know the dead can fall
in love he said. Fact. Did you know the dead
fall in love better than the living cuz nothing
left to lose.  The root of all blues.  Skeptical still
I strode onward in my seven-league boots as in
the fairy tale "Hop-o'-Ny-Thumb" from a book
of German fairy tales given to me when I had
chicken pox.  Scratching myself bloody, the ogre
gored to death by wild beasts.  Seven leagues per
stride toward a dead banjo player in a bad
mood.  Enchanteur. Or zauberhaft in German.

What a weird poem, this definitely doesn't feel like a sonnet at all, I need to look up who this Diane Seuss is.

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Ok, so I googled her, she was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circe Poetry Award and has some works under her belt.