a clarion call foretells a bending palm
loose in the trades arching away from
the howl that stings your face in a place
of abject beauty overtaken by plastic and
aluminum yet still the trades get their way
tossing chaise into lagoons made by digging
not by the moon and the water
coupled up surrounds me but on this trip
it's only me and mini me although he is different
or maybe not instead a sign of what i seek
and am afraid to find amidst the trades
voices overheard from under the dome
hint of home left but soon rediscovered when
the bill comes due and the tram makes its
final stop at the lobby turning out the red
and raw and tired ready to tell the tales and
show the pictures of fun and sun now done
not really knowing what was taken by the trades
