over the perilous bridge
past the trailer park
and the Indian campground
past several streets
still to be excavated
and a small house
cut in half like
a road-kill rabbit
past the town of Consequences
with its smoking dump of guilt
out beyond where a green creek
runs into a yellow lake
and the last shrines to the sun
waver in the wind
wait for me there
pray you have not
taken a wrong turn
that I have not
led you on in vain
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