The sadness I feel
Circles the earth three times
And travels from Illinois
Straight into my strangled heart
Like old Route 66
Following towns that have died
Their 1940’s hotels
Deceased
With doors opened wide
And nothing left in those vacant rooms
But tarnished dreams
And a solitary piece of Wrigley’s gum
Which shall remain for eternity
Because it is non-biodegradable
Next door pieces of theRoy’s diner sign
Remain
Paint peeling blood-red
The only thing left
Of Roy… Born in Brooklyn resting in Boot Hill
Is that dilapidated sign
Promising hot flapjacks
Slathered in broken dreams
Which you can find spilled along the highway
Today my heart looks like old Rt. 66
Full of potholes
Beer bottles littering the road
And tumbleweeds which barrel across
This empty stretch of wasteland
Which held so much promise
And like a once beautiful lady
Turned old, calloused and slightly bitter
Sitting on the porch of her
1950’s trailer
Roof about to cave in
Sides sand blasted by years
Of exposure
I look towards the dark clouds
Gathering in the east
Wondering whether the storm in my heart
Will unleash a torrent of tears
Or if there are no longer
Any drops left to fall
For a deep unrelenting sadness
Seems to be percolating
Across the plains of my heart
Depressing any movement
Out of this hell hole
And like a useless old tire
A nail driven deep into it
I sit idle and unable to travel farther
Along this old road
Which runs from Chicago to LA
And ends here
Somewhere near Bakersfield
On the corner of
Lost and Hope Streets
My heart split in two
Like this road
Which leads to the dreams of the dead
And to my future
Which lays in the middle of no where