Third World Frame of Mind

A dream is a passenger
pulling a leached goat
through the crowded streets
of my hometown.

It fights for space with
roaming pedestrians
on this journey to self-destruction.

A dream rots like a grain
waging an incessant battle
with voracious termites,
only to feed thousands
when it survives.

A dream is a baby
with its concept of day and night
so mixed up, that sleep,
when it comes, consumes its whole
being in blissful repose.

Dreams are like people
running from themselves:
from the puberty of errors
to the shambles of adulthood.

My dream is the wave
fading away
as I watch my life
in the rearview mirror.