Renewal
Prozac attack
I am walking the Stations of the Cross
Via de la Rosa
in my local shopping mall
suffering, enduring the
imagined or
video documented
jeers and sneers of one
or
perhaps all
Prozac attack
can never get it straight,
does Pride come or go
before or after the fall?
a sack of convenience store goods
culled
from these trance ventilated halls
weighs heavy on my wrists
is this a self-destructive twist
or a middle class lad lamenting
the loss of his shopping list?
my eyes dart through
the crowds lined with
hawkers and gawkers
and beggars who
stand as gatekeepers
before the revolving doors
trading information
in exchange for their
product placement
40 crowns of relief
for a glossy magazine
disheveled humanity
snitches to the black suited men
who prowl these corridors
armed with mobiles and
frowns to any who dare
look around
electronic sales forces
ply these plains
like bishops on a chess board
moving diagonally
and intercepting profiles
from templates
their bosses have clearly
outlined
looking for Achilles heels
in well trimmed boots
put all this in a time-capsule
swap a blanket for a saddle
in a feeding frenzy
they offer credit
on plastic cards
and the promise of
points to be redeemed
with shining holograms
in which they place their faith
and destiny
pilgrims stream
through the entrances
bearing bags and DNA
outside near the poured concrete
subway entrance
a Basque plays saxophone
in finger cut mittens
his shades of gray
solicit coins
onto a blanket of wool
Yes, I've been to Golgotha again
the apache kid