Look, grand pa, that yoostbe a mega mall.
At the edge of paradise, just there, where those sunflowers,
and mustards are making little canyons for trickles
to form rills and eventually, streams to carry away
all that water can dissolve, though, if I
fret I can
wonder at where the asphalt pitch will be,
it being hydrophobic,
insoluble unless we get some more acid rain,
-- yeah, that might work
the tower in Babel was mortared with bitumen,
what did the destruction of that edifice of mud pollute?
Nevermind, all the empty malls shall make fine villages,
and where the parking lot was,
there will be a meadow of the sort seen where green
is given back
hope, wait… do you imagine
the earth can groan?
do green things hope? do they grow happy or are they
verily being the hypostatic form of
the pursuit of life for life's sake, slightly weighted toward
happy state expecting
good, so for common sense,
we use the colors common to life's attractors
green means go
red is stop…
straight edges, where nothing grows,
those say stop, look and listen
we all know the warning signs, or do we get those in lessons
along the way,
along the way of course, I knew,
I was testing you.
once the course is mapped though, then we must learn the way,
before we may go outside and play,
that was different when I was a child, then
I thought readily as a child, with no need of grand kids
to remind me,
this is 2020, but some things never change.
Joni Mitchell crossed my mind as I pondered the paths water takes
through vast empty parking lots of abandoned factory outlets along I-40. It was Route 66, last time I walked by.