Crazy quilt of junk and fettered dreams
For sale, cheap- To those skilled in bravado and haggling
If you speak the Language of the Forgotten
A bounty of Fool’s Gold, treasures to be uncovered
Social etiquette mimed in poor fashion
Hallow movements belie their true beliefs,
Needs of survival break all bounds of proper convention:
The lowest of the heap of humanity
The Heart of the Market, last vestige of social binding
Away from the Fear, thick within the Mainstream
Sharp, quick and seasoned venders
Equal Opportunity: Who ever sells the most, the fastest, wins
Move away from the Heart,
Down the long tangled limbs of alley-paths
The line of propriety blurs, natural winding ways surface
Deadman’s Zone: the shadow between traditional legality and primal chaos
Hasty, make-shift stalls; Desperation is the currency
Scavengers, homeless, ignorant and immigrants
The Forgotten’s come to barter their wares
The narrow ends of these tangled limbs
Burst into the Ocean of the Underworld
Ménage of Men: heads, arms, fingers, feet
No stalls, no paths, living on the fluid moment of NOW
Primal Instinct is the only rule here: Language of the body
Mano-a-Mano, the fast buck of young men hustling
Their future a foggy haze across their eyes
Just one more... a vicious cycle, drowning poverty
Scent of Urgency is choking
You do not want to know where these items come from
Thieves, liars, illegals, drug addicts
Winding through the outer brink of the seamy underground
The threat of the loud, hot, writhing mass of Men swarming around me
Sudden, overwhelming desire to be covered from head to toe
Away from the prying eyes, objectifying my sex
Anonymity: I begin to understand the sanctuary, the freedom of the Veil
Tradition. Freedom.
In the eyes of the beholder; context of a culture
Sold! to the highest bidder, country or man
The cocoon of innocence ripped away, left naked and startled in the center light
As with all women around the world, the only freedom we truly desire
The single distinction between Humans and Animals,
Choice.
A phone left hanging off the hook beep! beep!
An eerie hush settles in the offices... a tumbleweed rolls by
Children wait questioningly after-school
Mysterious disappearances... where was everyone?
Another epidemic flu?
UFO sightings?
A Simpson & Son Tonic?
No, there is only one thing on every French person's mind,
one single pre-occupation,
a game to Beat the System,
S-A-L-E!
Code word, like magic to the French ear
The single word that illicits
Massive swarms of bodies
Dancing the precise steps of a time worn dance
To the outsider, overwhelmed by the apparent Chaos
An impossible mess of individual paths
Colliding, twisting, gorging
a typical case of American consumerism
Yet a finely tuned pattern emerges
one learned only from years of practice
the same music, the same steps, the same dance
This grand performance arrives only twice a year
A single month, a single burst of excitement, enthusiasm
Six months of restrained passion, precise and select purchases
Finally permission, in a burst of Gluttony
The rhythm of state-controlled commerce
against the whining nips of democracy
Pull and push as the tide of change roars near
Delicate strands, beaded
Prismed silence in the early light
The spider spins a pattern of eternity
Woven upon the exhaust and grinding flashing by
A whisper footstep by Nature
Upon the blasphemy of modernity
Human progress is measured
By destruction and gain
No matter how fast we may
Believe we conquer Nature,
With our pavement, concrete and linear paths
Nature’s progress is by adaptation
The eternal wisdom of Paternity
Allowing selfish children to pull, nourish and learn,
Destroying Her raw beauty
Only to silently receive the waste
Slowly, beginning to weave and reclaim
What was originally Hers
The spider sways into the breeze,
A diplomat of Nature
He feels the Great Beyond
The definition with out meaning…
The Pyramids, Floating Gardens and Language of Adolescents...
Great Wonders of the World
Yet there is another, elusive yet common
In a far away place, in a certain room, behind a certain door
Lay a mystery baffling to most Western minds
A riddle most Americans fear to encounter-
The line wraps around the corner
Sighs, groans- sounds of tired patience
A Movie Star? Concert Tickets? Job Fair?
No, the Women's Bathroom.
At last my turn! The door to my freedom...
Nothing. Simply a hole in the floor.
Had I accidentally stepped into the shower stall?
I recoil, confused and embarrassed, back into line
Some of the women sheepishly smile
Knowing the answer to the riddle
The large woman behind me sniffs, annoyed
Marches into "The Shower"
Moments later she emerges, content