When has truth ever pleased the powerful?
That's for another day. Pay attention.
Each sonnet has a set-value of tens.
First things first is the "I am" of the verse.
Who are we? Why are we so? We humans
are so complicated. The beginning
is a Complaint--a woe in origin--
a woe remains. Next, you cut-out the parts
of the pattern (one hundred and forty
sounds) to make a poem using a measure.
"Go get my the scissors by the washing
machine." A Memory enters, mamá
" how'd you find me again?...in my conscience?"