disposable dreams…

they’ve never been
useful
one would say
they
serve
no
practical purpose
something
to throw away
when
your life becomes
preoccupied
with
particles of existence
or
the dust bunnies
under
your bed
i suspect
they’re
one in the same
neither
requires any level
of
pain
to toss into the bin
or
usher off
to goodwill
so
they’ll either be
scavenged
by
someone else
and
incorporated
into
a recycled vision
of
tomorrow
or
left
to
to gather
cobwebs
in
some
bargain basement
self-help
book
on
how to fulfill
your
dreams

corrupted…

round
n’
round
spinning
whirling
chasing
your
identity
like
a newborn
puppy

nutritional content…

the brown bag prophet
was standing
down the street
from the bus stop
when he said
to me
they’re rushing
around
confounded
by life
seeking
a dime bag
of inner peace
between
the aisles
of costco
purchasing
another
discovered sales
self-help book
that will
surely
this time
point the way
to their
inner child
a concept
they probably
read about
last week
while waiting
for their
freshly squeezed
vial of wheatgrass
and
a perfectly proportioned
piece of whole grain toast
they
just don’t
seem
to understand
that we
all
are on
our way
back
to dust