God Is a Skylight (for Sam Walton)

Absurdly excessive excessiveness, drugged with savings

 individually wrapped and wrapped again

 halogen gods shine upon citizen members

 crazed and plodding, uncritical, unbargained for jogging suits

  willing to stretch and hide

 roving temple-sized carts, too heavy to even push

  weighing more than a pyramid block


“Oh my heart, I think it’s stopped”

“Pick my ass up off the floor, there Johnson”


Lost, yet still pushing on through

 is it worth it, is it heavy?

 is it Baghdad, is it Rome?


Palletized garlic, odorless and packaged for disaster

 forty pounds of goldfish shrapnel

 pre-flatulented bluejeans and bulked-up allergy relief


The future weeps for us and we laugh

 clipping our toenails at the dinner table

  food an astronaut wouldn’t eat


Ernest Hemingway, resurrected in his cap and beard

 plopped in line, dazed behind his cart

            member, cart

            slaughterhouse whacker


The balding damned moan and wail

 shove another hot dog in that mouth, Mr. Gatsby

            the green light only means “go!”

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