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[Dogslandia] Sonnet #89

Remember this: They will all die, the men
who tell you what to think and how to live

They're rarely young, these men, they will spend

Only a few more summers in the fields, overthrived

They will collapse in the weight of so much certainty

And where they fall, the flowers will grow tall

A quiet man will mow the grass, there will be hurting

But, what will remain of these proud men is all

about them that was good, not the preening

Not the proud and angry stubborn way that ought

they say to be what you need to do is bleeding

out into the wind, an empty set of words bought

At such great price, consideration of their peers

Rudder tongues against waves, vainly steered

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #88

Never get involved in what other people do
This is the lesson of today: See them chasing
See them running or racing, let them go
Walk past the beggar, walk past the debasing
Walk past everything that's wrong and curse
the self quietly; better guilt than physical
pain, better to feel awful inside, to feel worse
Than anyone ever felt about how you called
away from what you saw. You could get killed
You could get bit, beaten, broken, destroyed
Lockjaw, rabies, lawsuits, Get arrested, distilled
into a coma self, all the dangers in every shadow
Helping is dangerous. Doing is dangerous. Didn't you know?

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #87

Dog's don't need to be told to fear the stranger
It's bred into their bones from centuries of work
Leaning at the edge of light, sniffing out for danger
Once upon a time, communities were small and dark
Everyone would know everybody, the dogs would know
When the new came in from roads, the growl
at throats, the bark and warning snaps, the show
How if worse came, the bite the snarl the howl
Geese were like this, too. They guarded Rome
They honked and bit the raiders off the walls
Our cities are so big, now. It's easier to be alone
the bigger the city is. There is no anonymity
in little towns, where all the dogs know who's who
To be alone is to fear the stranger, to think the city
after dark is full of spiders, young lions running through
It's easy to be afraid in big cities, to howl and bite
Once here, animal fear is hard to stop, make right.

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #86

I turn around for a minute, and it's all so messy
What happened here? Discarded clothes and dishes
Paper in heaps and disorganized heaps. Three wishes
First, that all the insects in the wall would by fussy
About their living spaces, try to help out with the cleaning
Second, that the house, itself was a living thing that
could regenerate like flesh, a breathing insulate
And blood inside the walls, a heartbeat pulsing
to comfort me when i sleep like a womb; Third,
when the rain comes, it pours through the house
It passes through layers of soap, washes like words
passing through the air, a steamy mist that delouses
drowns the mouses, cleans the dishes, eases hard-
ness of maintaining, lounge in the steam, with your spouse

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #85

The thing no one says about growing up
Your back will hurt for sixty years, your feet
will be sore, you'll feel it when you wake up
The things demanded from the body, the concrete
Under the boots for eight long hours on the job
The way even typing long enough to live on it
Means the back and wrists will falter and dislodge
And, the less your paid, the more it hurts to do it
The more you wonder is the feeling in the morning
worth it? We're not allowed to be lazy, to call in
We're not allowed to heal our agonies, stand and wring
the muscles loose and get back to it, Work through pain
Anyone who says there's something wrong about this
Deserves to hurt, get called names: Hippie. Communist.

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #83

Carpentry, and construction, in general,
I find, to be a quest for tools put down
I'm sure I had them in my hand, they're around
Perhaps I will buy a second, unintententional
Or a third, and find the other two tools
In the bottom of the box. And buying new:
I'm sure there's a certain thing I need to build it true
But when I stop and look around, I feel a fool
For once again I have misplaced the thing
I just had it in my hand, and now there's dust
all over the place, maybe get more lighting
Maybe it's fallen down among the trash and rust
I probably need a different tool, if my understanding
If I could find the video again? It's all lost

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #83

The furniture our fathers made to last
Has mostly been relegated to back rooms
If we even keep them, maybe passed
Along from one back closet to a dorm
The furniture we show is made overseas
It is designed by a man or woman who will not
have any joining work, they'll oversee
From video screens and computers, shot
in just the way it takes to know no names
I bought a bookshelf kit from a store
So large no one bothered to offer any help
It cost less than meals I've eaten while dull, bored
The furniture our fathers made does not fit
Plus, we're tired of looking at it, repairing it.

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #82

This is how a story kills a man:
Inside a story, size and strength can kill

The nervous fighter with giant hands

Arrogant, proud, where the armies lie still

Remember the story? The stone and sling?

Goliath, the giant, of a wild race of men

The shepherd boy who would be king?

It plays in the mind, like a song, often

When we look up to percieve Goliath again

A big man, trembling, uncapable of violence

We do not know him. We only fear him

Because the stories have drawn out the fences

Of who he must be: A giant from another world.

We don't know him, his dreams, his beloved girl.

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #81

"You're in the way" said the bullet
"This is my place" "Sorry," said the wound

"Why did you get in my way?" "I don't

know. I was just standing here, if you believe it"

"I don't. Now there's all this blood. It's your

fault." "I'm sorry," said the wound. "I

Never meant to hurt you." "I'm dented! My

head hurts. It's all bent out of shape!" "Poor

You. Poor, poor you' said the wound. "Bones

inside me cut you up, too. I apologize for that, too."

"You should be sorry! I'm ruined! I'm a stone

Now. I used to be a bullet. I was flying through!"

"I've never flown. I am only a little wound.

I have made such a bloody mess of flight, ruined you."

[Dogslandia] Sonnet #80

Let's all go on a hero's journey: Map it out
in advance, where your mentor will be

Where will you face the inner demon's pout

and whistle? When do you expect all to be

lost? Plan for a scenic location, a vacation

on a mountainside, a long walk up unburdening

all the baggage along the path, placations

symbolically selected, something old, something

new, something borrowed, a sky so blue

Look up into the mirror of the self, that deep,

deep blue, and picture all the universal truths

emanating from all the galaxies so vast that creep

Around the unbelievably empty everything

Upon arrival, tip the waiter, Go to yelp for reviewing