Occupy Sonnet

 

Because everything is broken in this

country of squandered and pillaged

dreams, even the sonnet’s usual bliss can’t

right it all in fourteen jagged

 

lines. When all remains said and undone,

this sonnet will list like the Andrea

Doria, mortally wounded off the stone

coast of New England, her swaying

 

lifeboats unhinged from their davits, the

democracy too far and few between

governments, banks, and poets to save

everyone from the preened

 

power’s drowning. So this sonnet ends