In 313@Somerset I feel like a little fish,
impatient in currents of sale-hungry bodies,
streaming through fluro halls of golden tongued cash registers
swimming through heaven for possession
where nothing is priceless
where souls forget they are free.
Formless lives get distracted
by steely pots and shiny jewels
people queue in chains they cannot break,
slab upon slab of stores to make a layer cake
escalating bodies carried from pile to pile.
What is more decadent than this?
What do you need?
Does it even matter?
What do you want?
Do you expect to find it?
Children trained to want the world in a glass window,
sucking synthetically sweet sludge through rainbow straws
in this maddening confection we use to cripple our hearts,
are we floating belly up in tanks of our own making?
Am I dying just by breathing the air in this shopping mall?