Where is "Away"?

I’ve wondered now for quite awhile
Where is this place we call “away”?
It must be big and vastly vile,
Perhaps the hell from old Dante.

Each day we throw away our trash
That no one wants. We let it go.
There’s paper, cans and blackened ash
Just junk and trash that’s tossed heave-ho.

Immense the piles of useless stuff
In bins and carts and plastic bags.
We hold and store more than enough,
And oft' we toss good clothes as rags.

Someday there may be no more space
To put the stuff we throw away.
What then of us, the Human Race,
Do we get tossed as our doomsday?