Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

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

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