Everything is for sale
after The PriceMaster
dewy morning Denton
sun rising with garage doors
Y2k hangs heavylow in the rearview
a yardsale in the morning dew beckons
a brush of strangers, freaks of nature
with capitalistic ideations
to artificially increase anxiety
over a sound system
chiseled lips demand offers from
the vocal box of a sturdy automaton
Mr. Monopoly deforms itself into
a vulture circling Park Place, USA
pulling a fast one in slow motion
in a neighborhood under scrutiny
of itself
and in pursuit of…
social science? a quick buck?
a punchline? the cost?
FIVE.
HUNDRED.
BILLION.
DOLLARS.
problems for sale!
screen lit watch buzz
frantic anxious eyes adjust.
pause, let the mind catch up.
let the mind catch up
and process.
email text visual voicemail
DM must respond, i think.
i should do it now, i think.
if i don’t do it now then when, i think.
leave it unread, i think.
Remind me later, i think.
later i think about reciprocation
as the nature of communication;
even though my communication is unnatural
and I cannot reciprocate on you.
i am stilted wilted and depressing.
i push past the crowds in your mind;
set up shop near soap box.
‘problems for sale!’
but my problems on your problems
becomes new problems becomes our problems
and i don’t wanna be labeled problematic so maybe
i just shouldn’t talk about it.
i’ll text you back later, i think.
and later still i think,
that’s another sale lost.
Image generated on DreamStudio
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