Sonnet #264

Even as I know the dreams we’re sold are broken,

I dream the dreams I’m taught. The big house, the big,

big kitchen, with the big island and the big, big, big

yard far avenues beyond the reach of subway tokens

My dreams of what it means to be a man break

The world that will be here when I am dead

Our children will stand in ruined suburbs, having spread

our ashes in the fall; whisper curses to our love, how we take

More than we give to the ground, how we

Break more than we heal, how they must

come after us and mine the tombs of cities, how we

hoarded all our failed ease in buried heaps, how they must

look into the sky we burnt for our dreams, how we

Make money and call it love, how they must

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