The Spoils of Youth

Sleep, children,

sleep and dream

of sweet things

in bottomless landfills

mountain lands of treats,

tinker toys colored hyper-pink,

twinkies and meats

of replete splendor.

Dream of these, while you can,

and their counterparts, too,

for that is where you must go.

Dream of lost places where no man lives,

where men have long left their doors

to rot against

wet, eating time.

Dream of of these hollow old hallowed places

full of great old things

long forgotten,

hidden in gray dust and storm cloud,

machines of man

lain under rust

in warehouses

clad in must,

the last glimpse of man's touch

a trail of bald boot marks

footstepping down concrete corridoors,

leaving.

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