I relish an untitled retrieval.
Conscripts constant deja–vu.
I lose my keys.
Unto conscious exposure.
Outside the experience
A rainbow mounts contours
Along the edges of an oil slick.
A mere dot among litter
In Target’s parking lot.
Inside the store
Necessitates the caffeinated march
Untoward a consumer’s shopping foray.
TVs compose the fragile walls
Of what functions as
An Electronics Department,
While synchronized programming
Echoes cartoon dialogue
In stereo. Fictional voices
Drown out heightened
With tax refunds, waiting in envy
Of monetary cycles.
I leave with bleach and yogurt
Inside a plastic bag. An association
Solely made from my purchase,
Setting forth Set Theory
Patented by capitalists.
Over the parking garage’s ceiling
Collects dust, wrappers and cobwebs.
Wind travels through the mesh and flutters trash,
Sounding as if baseball cards were attached to bicycle spokes.
An overcast sky turns the shadows blue.
I enter afternoon like a newborn,
Escaping their womb for a new darkness.
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