Moments with lost silents push you into deep pockets,
the bucket list morphing into indecipherables:
the menacing collage, the porosity of stalked time.
The rate of polymer degradation increases faster than you thought
but the intrigue locks you into a playpen of dreams.
Street vendors stacked in real-time
hawk claustrophobic incidentals, itching to be inventoried.
So what's a little queasiness?
This is what you wanted, yes?
Would you rather something else? I doubt it.
How then the pharmaceuticals?
The speech patterns which continue to tantalize?
Can you wait out the so-called trademarked expert
downsized to a handicap parking space?
The morning paper arrives as rehearsed.
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| Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison |