Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Friday, August 31, 2018

Sonnet #257

If everyone is sick and no one is well
(No one who is well stays well for long)
And everything is dying, and everything is wrong
Each ecology breaks against our buy and sell
And every body, too, it breaks, we’re bought, sold
The diseases are investments to the ones who own
They also own the things that sicken, and break bones
But no one is to blame, each share is tinily held
By the very people who are sick and never well
That own the shares in the ones who harm
And the ones who sell the medications to get well
We own our own destruction. It’s ours. It’s warm.
Wrap up in the happy death, the bright slow death
Invest, while you’re living in the graves and wreaths

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