There is a song that is sung
where the melodies depart;
the mind sets apart
the man from the lark
in the wilds of time,
the plans and the lines
of promises played
and dreams long delayed,
are erased from the day of a Lifetime’s dismay.

This song is still sung
by the heart and the lung;
gleaned from the will of an optimist’s hum
in a world largely lit
by the darkness and grit
of the cynic’s sharp tongue,
the melodies live on.

What’s Next?

The American
dreams, worked for sights unseen,
buying empty-handed lives.

A Future
carved from dust and lies embedded
in lusty eyes and hungry minds give way
to an infrastructure of More.

A Debt
to plastic and paper
fictions written by decimals and ore
the pillage of what was never ours and never yours.

A War
on commodities
and the poor, we’re in over
our head afraid and bored
you ask: what’s next?

The American Dreams.