Dead at the center
A cigar box grand edifice
Chrome shined relic drowned
By zeros and ones
I walk these burnt umber tiles
Under the blueness of fluorescents
Through jungles of dumb canes
Tip-toeing around ghosts of Orange Julius
From big boxes half empty
Past shadow boxes of retail past
Side stepping kiosk eruptions,
Searching (no I don’t want a shoe shine)
Questing (gummy grapefruit yes please)
Crusading for my own Holy Grail
A pair of jeans that fit
circularstaircase 