Neighboring fog that has been hanging around

since they built that statue to Jupiter
over in Estonia
started to annex

the red clay sand
scattered
in the sugar silks
smoke screens replaced Laffyette daggers

out along the Valencia futures

that long ago gave way to the planned city of Tomorrow

that went to shit
when the money men learned
the founder had no spirit

for the dollar
& soon after there was no one to sell her Tomorrow

but our wagon is still hitched to that sun
that still comes up
& always gives a guide
to the promise of the future
as the dawn makes every last one of us
bitter, muddied souls shimmer like fresh emeralds
out in the Olney snow