Gazing At The Mess

over here in
the traffic-dressing
plop-station of
then waffles off to
purchase a grownup,
muffin-cupped with
sardine-chocolate at all
the horizontal-palaces,
with their
gold doors, hairy
silvers of chutney
laughs off
sides and slides
onto the grocery store
floor, causes a heart-ache
in a mop
who would rather
keep to delivery
but someone has
to swipe cards
when switching gains
an apprentice and
the music bores
the speakers their
born from, just
as the cranberries
can’t stop gazing
at the mess
all over the
gate of the
bucket as it
swells with hives
during each inhale
of concession stand

sugar packets protrude
from the nostrils
of the mustard
slumped notepad scribble
populace containing judgment
in a mallet of
the day ends
in a pile
of useless desire
as mountains arrive
from within


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