Sonnet #347

 In the woods we kill and eat to

live

But in the city we mostly choose to work

To eat, become a cell in a thing that hurts

It hunts and kills where we don’t live

And take solace that we aren’t the teeth

We aren’t the claw - someone else hurts

And we get Christmas parties, never hurt

Unless the time has come to feed the teeth

Back to the woods, again, and again

Every peaceful sinner has to hunt to eat

Scour all the concrete trees of pain

There is never stillness, here, always neat

Where trimmed roses bloom in rows

And there is never that harrow song, the wild howl.