a terrible dreaming into the future

Two crispy crackheads giving head in a hallowed out rusted car body in my driveway, till it falls, car, crackheads, house and all, over the cement edge, into a dark brown ocean, heavy with chunks and hunks of metal, plastic, muck. Garbage and waste are too small of words, this is a sea of shards of human filth, the waves are choked by it. The sky is gray, dark, menacing, punctuated by silent streaks of light, sulfur lightening, a towering block of green and silver e-waste serves as a sentinel. I rise up over the Earth and everywhere is brown and rust and gray and destruction, covered, completely chewed up, so much human waste, there is no room for humanity. And a tiny pocket, like an oasis, a tremendous and terrible relief of greens in a stark and vast canvas of grays. Trees. The exception of a gathering of trees. And blues, and earth. What a dream. A parasite is unsuccessful if it kills the host.