In the gaze of the other

"My mistress' eyes are nothing…"

Capital Mist

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Strafing the boulevard, the store lit signs obscenely shout their names

as if no one could hear them, remember their wares and goods, so well,

I can tell which aisle to find band aids for this wound that refuses to heal

scabbed and picked and bled and smoothed and scabbed over and over

or salve for the rims of my heels dried and cracked in winter’s brutal beat.
 

Restaurants, all sizes, shapes and price ranges scaling a rainbow’s fare

for appetites unending, cresting at habitual hunger hours’ gurgling songs.

How a child longs for happiness in a meal and a toy, romping a petri dish

soaked in saliva and snot and piss and crap laced red plastic pinged balls

or cushioned blows to bodies flung down chutes and ladders’ padded iron.
 

CVS Pharmacy and McDonalds and Chase bank and Pizza Hut/Taco Bell,

the art of commerce accompanies the blank of night the wreckage left me

twisted in elbowed chin to slump, knee over knee gaze reflected glass cut

through another plane of recognition, climate shift, and chance transformer

where a mind observes facts like neon signs wailing wisdom’s mist, capital.

 

credit: mattperfectblog.blogspot.com

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