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a voice crying out in the postmodern wilderness

An Amputation of Materialism

I graduated with a major 
in American dream and 
a minor in consumerism.
A job was available
in commercial real estate,
so I took it.
 
The Chinese-made engine
stopped in a confetti of sparks
when I told the conductor
I was on the wrong train.
He let me disembark 
in a field of dandelions, 
which are weeds—
but everyone knows
they’re really lunchbox
notes from God.
As I walked away, he watched 
me pray seeds into the wind, 
hoping some would germinate.
 
The engine fired and he 
departed with his nose against
the glass, bound to 
remain on the rails.

Horizons

Cups