plot badly
breakaway lines
hyphenated swarms of
wide awake mannequins in
deportment stores
made from shiny shards they see
themselves spin in customerless mirrors
they’re wearing hints of
lingerie
or sailor suits
or what-once-was-denim
or classic evening wear over perfect
anatomies
and in their brains
(yes, they have them,
tho’ they’re smaller than you think)
they calculate universes
of nonexistence (and, of course,
no consequence)
and in the food deportment
where every critter
gulps burgers
and masticates accordingly
while planning
to regurgitate in secret
new knifes
new forks
new chopsticks
crack plates
and
shatter bowls
not exactly a
singularity
but a change
that made your mind change
in an instant
and all was war
in the 20th century you could’ve
pirouetted
or flipped a switch
indeed these metaphors precede
annihilation
of a different kind
when just
soft silks
swiped momentarily
across your face
would
do