223
Sonnets From Other Lives: Wilson

Know that swirling gyre of garbage in
the mid-Pacific? We’re all castaways
floating in detritus. You begin
to meld with jetsam--rue the days
that we’ve infested this poor planet.
There’s too much goddamn noise! Don’t you find
that it’s a struggle simply to inhabit
some pristine place within without your mind
wandering in the rancid memes & logos
that leech onto us parasitically?
See every other thing I think I know--
every other random memory--
was bought & paid for-- sponsored & spoon fed
to me by me & will be ‘til I’m dead