Where dreams go to die

You’ll see them along the road
the long lines of dreams
Not just cloudy and white
But the dust of all colors
plodding along, their chins in their chests
Uninterested in seeing
The last bit of trail
As yet unexpired, but because the end is so near
They sulk, resigned like workers on a Sunday evening
already relinquishing all of their happiness
All of their abandon
They face the abyss of their miserable demise.

Where are they going, these dreams of destiny and adventure?
Ah, to California, that is where
But they are too late for gold
Or even silicon
Nevertheless, it is to California that they will go
To senselessly hide under Your footsteps
And wend their ways into Your long shadows
To be swept along Your mirthless bitter trails
And spy,
yes to spy
on You
As You throw back Your sweaty head
and quench Your
thirst on stolen
Ice water.


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