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North American Dreaming: Apathy

William Burkholder's poem tells of apathetic avenues and dead ends.

Mycotic
renderings
fettered
blinding eye
with putrid,
fungal banter.

The bandages,
unchanged and foul.

Wrapped in life's
apathetic avenues,
dead ends,
pot holed,
condemned.

The road,
less travelled this day,
is empty; completely.

Pedestrians absent,
down turned heads,
no one will speak,
to the eyes of truth.

Afraid to catch its gaze,
for fear of perishing in its light.

The sum of which,
is the tally,
an infectious,
diseased curse.

**

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