The Great Compression Sonnet

The pressure mounts until you hold forth or
you freeze. The day is primed for seizin'.
Whoever grasps the hollowness of the score
will win just by the elegance of reason.
Seek out what you believe without relent.
Our times and lives have nothing--but demands
that none wait round for what heaven never sent--
Instead they rise cold and clear as fire brands.
For this was never what forefathers wrought:
This sick, passionless dive for means too mean,
this epidemic sweeping soul and thought
has left too many raw and fraught and lean.
Hold out or let the tide carry you through,
There's little choice in what I'm bound to do.

I wrote that at my friend Dustin's house last fall in New York City. It interests me, I wonder if I'll end up plundering from it for a song.