shoppers. 5 minute sketch, #4

by essayan hart

tonight the body is a cavern
and you are host
i play the fiddle
graveside
to your great affair

you bend light and shape
demand reparations
while i build monasteries
imagine for myself
a quieter life

in the parking lot
of the a+p
we grow famous
for our endless exhibitions
your tiny sculptures
there’s nothing to do in this town

when we argue
i forget my shoes
and go barefoot
for three days
without noticing

there are temples for love
the small tubes
the endless supply of paint
i wonder
“where does the money come from?”
but accept your generosity
and never break stride

we forgot eachother one morning
and went about our lives
i have six herbal remedies
for our common condition
collecting dust
one my kitchen table

midnight seems holy
so we part
in search of the last word
you tell a dirty limerick
as i collect my masterpieces
from the pavement

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