Sonnet #175

The tip jar that consumes the world
Exists so owners don't have to pay
So they can tell you it's your say
Whether you make a living wage or
Not. Everyone needs a tip jar, now
We must be kind on Facebook
Get as many people to seek and look
Otherwise when debts and bills grow
When cancer comes, when lost jobs
When sick children, when broken cars
When the month adds up to rob
And no one knows how anyone ever
Made a living in this country before
No one ever has enough, just tips for more

Sonnet #174

They run along the wires above the dogs
If they fall, it's thirty feet to ground
And even there, up there, the dialog
is loud, the angry shouts, the sound
of the frustrated hunters, the warnings.

To get to even one sunflower head, it takes
A courage to face every morning
Because the whole world hunts and slake
their bellies on squirrel meat and bones
The brave leave safety, run to bury
All they need to brace for storms
To starve or race the feathered or hairy
The barking dog, the hawks and swooping falcon:
Grant me a squirrel's courage to brave grimalkin

Sonnet #173

Go to the store and buy a new you

With the right shoes, the right suit

Get a haircut, smile, the past is moot

We can buy a future, buy all brand new

A better job will come with clothes

Buy the classes that you need

Buy the certifications to lead

You can reinvent yourself with just a pose

A shine in the right light, a wink, a nod

Find a new church, pray to a new god

Find a new house in a place, plant roses

Where the ground is bare and new

New things, new places, and new you

The bluebird follows: everything is blue

Sonnet #172

The end of times are here, they're just
not evenly distributed, but look
The trash blown ragged at roadside edge
The people walking, there, how unjust
To them, all dreams lost, can't unlook
at them but say how close is this edge
We glide like ice cubes over life, it's just
That we don't notice how we melt. Look:
The crumbling houses, where the edge
of cities yawn into the kudzu vines, just-
ice thumbs upon the poor, builds more, look:
The empty mine shafts and the lake's edge
Where dead bird bones, a bit dissolved appear
The smog that chokes us out, we disappear

Sonnet #171

Fireflies and certain birds, to me, 

resemble souls, the flash of color

in twilight dark, where cardinals hover

in the green, like discovering the holy:

A whistling meteor of love sought

If bugs can feel a kind of love

If an insect feels more than shove

and push and live and eat and ought

to know the eggs they leave will

be their legacy among the rotting wood

The soul of them, the spark that stills

the hearts of children, gathering good

Dancing in the night grass, they will

clap their hands, and shriek at starlight blood

Sonnet #170

After death, or perhaps ascension,
but likely death, who will rise to fill
the gap we leave? I have some candidates
That seem to carry enough good intention
and good adaptability, and perhaps the will
The raccoon has thumbs, a genius adequate
But such loners, like the octopi, they live
in solitude, mostly, and science demands
collaboration, so I turn to dolphins
Next and think perhaps they'll thrive
From tidal flats as the sea expands
But will they build and think and often
Enough to merit interstellar advancement?
The ants, perhaps, there are so many ants

Or perhaps machines, their factories vent
to recreate this ghost of us, their discernment.

Sonnet #169

I know how to live, but not how to stop,

I wake, I breathe, I fill my mouth with water

The aches and creaks I cultivate and fodder

Keep me grounded, while I close crop

The weeds upon my skin, and scrape

The chaos off that always stinks like empty

Houses filled with rainwater, plenty

of time spent smelling good, all us great apes

Must dress ourselves, and leave the room

We know how to live, it's moving through

The tasks at hand, keeping up the zoom

of everything, maintaining houses (make room

Make room for more life) struggle on to

the next room, the next room, (make room)