OP. IV

There is a song that is sung
where the melodies depart;
the mind sets apart
the man from the lark
where:
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
where:
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.