Sonnet #405

 We must discuss this crust of stuff

That clusters all around your bed

Abandoned books and bits of mail unread

And tea cups, coffee cups, water cups, stuffed

Effigies of animals, and lost socks, lost shirts

A lonely shoe pushed too far under 

The baleful mess that speaks of blunders

Make your bed, clean your room, dust, flirt

With perfection every day for failing here

Means failing everywhere, every little choice

Accumulates in your little tomb of room, fear

What mysterious archaeologists find to voice

Their judgments of your remains? what spiders

Emerged to defend your cluttered cellars?

Sonnet #404

 No time to work, no time to play,

Not on things that matter, anyway

Join the game of Monopoly

Where everything sucks and nothing is free

And the work of living: the fooding

the ritual cleaning, the joyful blooding

of the young at their rituals 

and the yearning towards the spiritual

are purchased for cheap so we can be

busy at business importantly

and art? an afterthought, an idle uselessness

i don't mind it so much, the loneliness

of the arts, but i mind how my time is best

with toil that has no meaning to the rest

Sonnet #403

 Be grateful you are offered a chance to help

Be grateful I am asking you and demanding

That all your hopes and visions of life are ending

Because you must obey the call of the kelp

The call of the seaweed, the call of the muck

That someday will become the limestone

Quarried by the ravens’ tools for their homes

When humans are all just ghosts that sucked

The life out of this world and the world sucked back

Be grateful you have a chance to do your part

Before the wild places never come back

So pull yourself together, man, and drop art

Drop love, drop life, find the bottom of a sack

And let it swallow you, any sack will do, no heart

Beats matter of yours, now, my lost one, my drifting hack