Dream of the Dream Killer #21

Whoa, space. An abandoned stage,
painted mixed-up circus tent colors,

opening into new rooms, rusted doors,
mildewed movie theater rug, and neon 

tubing piling up like fluorescent eels
in the corner. Possibilities? Endless.

No one had told me this was here,
fine property stagnant off the Sonoma

plaza where I was raised. You could
make millions, dazzle the roaring crowds,

So, when John Tesh came waltzing in
like a puffed-up peacock pretending 

to know its direction by fanning out, my heart 
sank. He bought the whole thing in cash.

And the rich Christians get everything, 
I thought, and went on folding t-shirts 

in the box office like I was built to serve.