Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Friday, February 3, 2017

Sonnet #158

Make your own things if you can
The manufacturing has degraded
Nothing is meant to last. I'm jaded
I know, but it's true. The wingspan
Of the common angel has diminished
until the bones are showing under feathers
And even slightest weights are tethers
To a point where no one's ever finished
Just thrust out of the window, and pray
The wind is strong today. Make your own
If you can. It takes a plan, supplies, stay
in the house a while and dedicate ground
To build your own, unimported, harbors gray
never dropped, no management bound

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