Wine by the gallon
bread by the cent
with fevered, raving eye-knives
at the drones following pedestrian procedure.
Disembodied ghost-voices
hawking glowing, hovering sales,
forced forward through
the labyrinth of food, and escape:
please insert bill face up,
conform, know that the command is compulsory,
but:
Please wait for an attendant
so that our silicon might verify your carbon,
but please to not engage her, as
we cannot be held responsible for her attitude.
You brought your cellular, right?
Flee, then, solace in the cool mist
of a late, light May rain,
and home made by way of
beloved, hovering and shining icons
just in case we forget what we're working for.
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