a freestyle sonnet about sitting outside without no screens other than my eyeballs

Indoctrination causing inside stranglehold, 
been indoors too much lately, four walls closing in 
with clutter and dust, rust never sleeps, and this cold 
world don't give half a fuck how I'm feeling it spin. 

When it gets like this, I revert to country state 
of mind, find time for shade tree recline, practice vice 
of deviseless moments, refuse to suffocate, 
mind roaming, zero bars block views of Paradise 

City above - blue skies full of silver linings 
to feel even if I can't touch... truth can't ever 
be cobra clutched by angry hands. Intertwinings 
of hopes (prayers) and stars (creator) will sever 

feelings of lostness, too long inside square confines. 
Outlaw minds don't do well with domestic guidelines.