Sinus terror as people pass—
The smell of the sale
Smeared inside the nostrils of truth
The path of the indigenous is taken—
Through sandy shortcuts and
Around roped off paychecks underneath
Tables signed over to the bored soul
Clutched walking sticks kicked from the
Tourist gait, all in gloomy imagination:
Faces
(Now imagine rage)
Laid onto discarded receipts for the
Chocolate chip cookie becoming the
Gravel chipped cheek
Automobiles tuned prior to departure—
Carrying many burdens on their roof racks
Children grow towards tradition—
Like blackberry bushes in the backseat;
Their youth’s ghost will be replaced with
Great Danes and golden retrievers
Skulls out the window,
The smell of the breeze,
Tongues out
Noses up
The scent of the holiday sale is so familiar!
But my feet are the filthiest they’ve ever been this summer
Did I know you in the sixties? Smile.
A few favorite lines: “Like blackberry bushes in the backseat … my feet are the filthiest they’ve ever been this summer … if all the insects decided to simultaneously seek vengeance …”