listening to local h’s bound for the floor
I’ve learned all my lessons before now.
Broadcasting live from a psychosomatic merry-go-round, centerpiece of this beautiful 1990s mall furnished with red carpet. That’s right! Malls had carpet at one point! Parents on an honor system, keeping blind faith in the cleanliness of their children’s shoes.
My eyes can only travel as far as I allow them. Dedication reserved for a peeling Coca-Cola label on a fountain drink dispenser in a timeless food court that wouldn’t dare be updated. A certain hominess with the Christmas crowds when the very life of their holiday season hinges on whether or not they succeed here and here alone.
And you just don’t get it.
Up and down we go. Never breaking rhythm but intensely we lean in. No change in tempo, no baroque overdrive, still we expand to a needed output sans exhaust. And around we go. Horsey maintains her or his facial expression, no matter how much older you get.
You keep it copacetic. Revolve. What good is confidence? Revolve. Dillard’s is so endless. Using a map wouldn’t guarantee we make it across. You know it’s so pathetic.
I love opening the book on a false history, mixing my own young experiences in a wished upon nostalgia.
Born to be down. We learn to accept it.
by ty miller