America has
nightmares.
I saw one,
once.
The promise of a
sweet cream dream,
curdled.
They were flowers long ago.
Flowers in the midwest,
flowers in the south,
flowers in the southwest,
flowers in the east,
died and gone to seed---
new wastelands to add
to the pile.
But---
this boy sees only garbage
while I smell lilies.
And seeds wait to be planted,
to bloom,
we wait---
and America rolls over
and dreams, a little.
Author notes
And so I lived on the road for a while...
Adding your comment: