Sonnet #348

 I should write this on the sidewalks

Just keep writing this and this and that

Until the words grow strong and fat

and I can put them on the roads

Just up beside the mailbox, by the bins

where all the leaves and takeout wrappers

stumble in their edgelands, I'll scrape there

spread the words where when the winds

come, all of them are smothered so I move

into the center, cars will honk and swerve

And I, committed to my work, endure unmoved

Carving with my chalk a line of useless words

Maybe I'll be arrested for obstructing cars

More likely, I'll run out of light when sun sets into stars.