Monday, April 26, 2010


I dream of a sumptuous hell,
an endless department store
of downward escalators,
of peacock feathers
a hell of silk and fur

leatherbound copies of
unpublished books,
hand carved faces
of nameless deities,
the mall of the forgotten

doors in storefronts
in all the cities of the world
announce moving sales, fire sales
an open throat that enters only downward
a pitcher-plant of masonry
and airconditioning, of light and inoffensive music

false exits, dusty windows
where flies die, beating their confused heads
against the glass, buzzing in prayer
the stairs leading ever down

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