Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, July 30, 2018

Sonnet #253

Beloved daughter of the beast in question,
Has no words to speak to how her parents met
In fact, I've never heard it spoken, yet
How mother was tricked, held against her intentions
Until the monster's mask was shaken free
By their great wrestling and shouting matches -
She speaks so highly of her father, she latches
to his great work, his great kindom in the trees
When asked about the curse, she says we are all
born with original sin upon us, let us move on
From such tedious subjects as the sins we share all
done in the name of, and let the servants' son
in to serve us tea. Beloved son of candelabras
He was born inherited to serve, and to sing a little opera

Monday, July 23, 2018

Sonnet #252

Let's say we walk away from Omelas
Out into these wide wilder fields
Where the bracken chokes the grass
And the clustered trees scratch not heal
Let's say we live among the trash
That floats into the mangroves from the city
Construct our lone utopias, gather, lash,
what sticks we have to lean-to in the trees

Let's say the seasons come, it's cold
Let's say we know the starving time is here
Let's say Omelas in plenty casts it's hold
In trash we gather to eat and scare the bears

Did we walk far enough, Ursula? Is this enough?
When we are wilder creatures, lean and rough?