| untitled1 |
he stands at the street corner next to the stop sign wrists poking out of his baby brother's coat jacarandas were in full bloom winter plays with his shallow breath he stood there at the corner next to the stop sign his hoarse cry echoing along the length of the street "DREAEAEA...MS FOR SAAALE! DREEAAMS FOR SALE!! A DIME A DOZEN!! DREEEEAAAAMS FOR SAAALE!!" and the people flock to him and they buy his dreams and they go their ways and they never stop to wonder about that dusty dream in his back pocket on both sides
 |
Poetry |
Classic Collection |