Blueberry Roads

We walked with heavy breath,

With the bubbling tone from our underground ballroom tour guides,

Way up in the mountains of Colorado,

Elk with thin bones, hung out in the parking lot.



Bowls of water next to plastic flowers,

Ghost stories on the menu everyone orders,

Haunted rivers full of snakes, if you know their shape,

You can see the gophers too.



So many homes on the cliffs, full of opulent views,

How vulnerable they are, to a little crime.

They are sent spinning, as they play musical chairs,

To a real estate melody.



We drove by an imported lake,

Where money gathers in pools called inheritance,

And everything shuts down by 9:00pm,

To be safe and asleep near artificial plants.



Yet down at the dawn, there are cats and ravens, and many ants,

Using the sidewalk to ventilate their young in the high desert.

Small holes and silent feathers, in fear the weather could grow teeth at any moment.



I received my token, paid the price for the maze,

I stood by the bronze man, and closed my eyes on the way down.



Blueberry roads led up into the sky,

A path of crystals and glitter,

Don’t walk on the grass, restoration in progress.



We feasted by the river and woods, as a duck walked around the table.



For the evening, we rode a dark horse,

To a cemetery full of our wagon-wheeled ancestors.



The whole place was slated for destruction,

Then we ate hot dogs the day before.



Our alarm clocks weren’t working, and time flowed backwards,

Like doors swinging in opposite directions,

But there only 1 direction time can go, for even those who dodge decay, will rot and die another way.