We need line 12 for our crowd-sourced sonnet!
'Tis a game anyone can play.
It elevates collaboration and chance to an esthetic dieal." — Manny Kant
Here is where we are right now:
<<<
How like a prison is my cubicle,
And yet how far my mind can freely roam
From gaol to Jerusalem, Hell to home.
Freedom ends or starts with a funeral.
Say what must die inside that I may not
Cast down this die and cross the Rubicon
Thence to the true hell: the heat of Tucson
Where drug lords blaze loads of coke, meth, and pot.
Freedom starts, or ends, with a funeral.
I once watched men with Uzis guard the Pope
No hope, no hope, no hope, no hope, no hope.
>>>
It's a game, a contest, a stunt, a cunning stunt, a lovely extroverted poetry pastime. Try it!
Kenneth Koch would have approved.
theamericanscholar.org/help-us-write-a-sonnet-line-eleven/#.U7w5FGPb6JE