Dylan’s Dream (May It Be, Unto Me)

by Tyler Malone

Bestial humanity, sit and look with me

at the trailer park American dream.

A Holy Ground and plastic streams.

We’ll only sit for a few minutes—

 

The white of this trash scream to heartily

the rest of Americas marked down heaven

there’s no door, or any barrier

not a single pane of thin, plain

glass in any windowsill that we can see

like an open mind, it seems

so appealing to see into,

and within all the walls.

wholly appalling, what we see—

 

In the humidity,

the smells in the rooms

piles of diapers, old condoms dry

in older couches, immortal roaches

the worse use of wood in our town

the newest technology is the nostril

maybe PVC piping

 

there’s a road, running straight paved by the face this place

Praise! We won’t be the only two to see it today.

 

Holy Ground, the face

of disgrace, purest

of white trash

nicotine spatters the

general spitting of

good taste.

 

Bestial humanity,

I’m afraid they’re

still alive and well beyond walls,

inside, behind in the windowsill.

 

along the nails, and splitters and open space

around the nature raped frame: a round face.

 

the wood porch looks like a sunken pirate ship

all we smell is dust, time, and sizzling dog shit

above, stronger than the scents is a sign:

“a dream is a wish the heart makes”

this home IS some bodies dream so

what’s their nightmare?—

 

under 27 words and God is an entire world

:a little girl

 

White, not yet trash (she’s half way there)

She strides with the sounds of Sunday night sitcoms

the TV pushing her out the door. Her—

shoes are too small

                                                                                shirt too small

                                                                                pants too large

what’s her wish? This?

 

She smells like yesterday.

She’ll never know diamonds.

She says “hi!”

What do I say?

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