The Product Of Your Dreams Poem by John Weber

Pillowed down stitched by
        loving hands, worn by
life's strenuous duty to protect,
dancing with patches of hope,

draped over gears polished,
        castor-oil tickling the
nose with the notion of fluid
motion, one spiky rung rests

upon a battered guitar-case
        riddled with stickers
of gracious destinations and
ideologies in silent revelry,

pointing to the humming
        computer loaded with
secrets and lessons, the stories
that sum up my lifetime of

experience and terror until
        I close my eyes to find
the ether choked in the churning
wave of corporate distortion

plugging my mind with the lie
        that solid rules over
liquid in tangible logic, greed
seducing promise in ecology

until the truthful elements
        howl at the mournful
moon for the loss of me and
the product of my dreams.