Sonnet #10

We do not own a thing we think we own

The house belongs to them that tax them

They could eminent domain away a home

The cars belong to parking lots and tow men

The clothes upon our backs will crumble

They will not last, and even then belong to others

It is for clothes to spare the sight of stumble

bumble rumble flesh, to spare the children's cares

We do not own our phones, they are contracted

Our computers drm update by update

Our precious detritus, our bric-a-brac 

Jourmeys shelves to boxes, Goodwill crates

We own the grasping after things, alone

The will to take until we become the stone