Fire Sale in Samsara

At the mall again.
Bodhisattva on a bench.
Echo holidays down Muzak channel.
Swirl of shoes.

Directory says
I’m here, can’t prove it.
If I am a dot, then:
escalators.

Food court, maybe
I’ve been drugged? Soda
footprints,
neon seizure?

Objects
multiply: third eye tracks
the heart, the ass, the bag.
Muzak blaring.

Candy!
A swelling OM,
always free, with purchase.
(Brut, organza)

Balled-up napkin,
wheelchair ramp.
Ten couples, griping, wander;
holly candle.

Shoe crunch coffee bean.
Spritz perfume?
Only if it wakes
me up, Madame.

Three days, seemed like,
lotus in a cave.
Blinking yellow lights, life-
time, parking garage.

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