Tottering to the bar counter,
Orthopedic shoes engulfed, a swirling ocean
cigarette butts and cellophane wrappers
Her lunar treat; quick delicious, flirtation with Hope

Withdrawing to a discarded corner
Gleeful smile, her body sprung young
Possibility...whispers in her ear

The ritual commences:
Top, left the cheap foil belies it’s hidden treasures
Middle, bottom, right her fingers scratching slowly
The moment hangs in the air
Eyes half-closed, released to fate
Squeezing each single, last drop of pleasure…

S…I…G…H…
The escaping moment caves her body, sagging head
Tic, Toc, time marches onward, an aging woman in a filthy bar.

Eyes glaze dull, the ticket floats from her cold fingers, falling
Another grain in the hourglass of life.

From the far corners of the land they come
The tired, the young, the old and the poor
Their weekly pilgrimage
Mecca: The promised land of low prices and domestic conformity

They crowd her doors, frenzied masses
To hear her eulogy of Hope,
Touting the Theology of Material Consumption:
Salvation from the maladies of urbanism

Sainted clerks patiently listen to confessions of desire, need
Kindly pointing the pilgrims towards the overflowing shelves
Relics perched high, displayed for the devoted
Cooing, in awe they touch and stare with lustful eyes
Commercial absolution from their woes and tight budgets

For those of a stronger constitution and impoverished pockets
Deep in the warehouse the Catacombs beckon
Scavengers troll through the discarded and forgotten relics of yore
Cracked and broken bits, skeletons of discontinued models
On sale, ½ price

Eagerly, the followers line up to buy trinkets by the handfuls,
Amulets to protect against their reality.
With each pilgrimage they dream
Praying for the day when their gnawing hunger will subside,
Their domestic simplicity finally complete.

Yet it will never end, for with each sack they return home
With each new catalog, as to Pavlov’s Bell
They return for their fix, their relics faded, hunger renewed
The unattainable vision dangled before them:
Luxurious, perfect interiors will a happy life make...
Money doesn’t buy everything you know.

Cramming into the subway car,
Little Lord Fauntleroy defiantly stared back
Tousled curls, clever blue eyes
Kicking my shin with his patent leather boot

Waiting at the traffic light,
The Girl with the Pearl Earring stands near by
Faint pink skin, vivid coral lips
Framed by a swath of somber brown
The essence of her noble heritage
Discreetly proclaimed by her profile

Reaching the corner, just before home
I run smack into myself
A visage of sandy blond locks
Soft brown eyes, broad face
One of Mother Nature’s advocates

He smiled, knowingly as he passed by
As if we shared a common secret
Buried deep within our genes
Comrades by birth

To the mongrel mind of an American
Solitary, we have no identity
A sudden pride gives birth
The knowledge of finally, belonging

As our heritage is unearthed, roots deepen
Maturity blossoms, the innocence of ignorance fades
For as with all families comes the joy, the support
The skeletons of guilt, atrocities and suffocation

The choice is simple:
Untethered, your soul will fly as high as it pleases
Incognito, you are what you say, what you believe, what you make
Valiant, conquering you return a hero
To the applause of none
Broad success, a mere speck of dust in the minds of history

Surrender to the warmth of a family, an evolution
Firmly rooted you become, frozen amidst tradition, obligation
Success creeps as slow as death, your soul whimpering
Yet the Howl will be mighty for the local boy, one of their own
Claiming his tiny plot in life, remembered across generations

Our moment in history, a changing of the guards
At the brink of starting anew once again
Ripe and fertile for exploitations, the pioneers
Dismantling the boundaries of time and relationships
Searching for the simple life, to stretch our wings as evolution intended
Our final frontier: The Mind

Listless eyes opened wide
Grubby little fingers anxiously stroke small coins
She stands, motionless in front of the store display
Glossy, artificially vibrant rubbish piled high into perfect rows

Already she hears the Siren Call: Consumerism
An antiseptic, soothing the vigilant, chaffing poverty she lives
For within every smooth, filmy wrapping lay a flicker of Hope
A moment of Peace, the seductive power of Ownership

Shhip, Shhup, Shhip, Shup
THUD, THUD, crack!
Seeee-saawww
Pfffttt! S-pp-Llu-TT-er…
Cough, Cough, Wheeezz

She has seen better days,
Probably even seen worse,
Yet with eyes of Hope
I caress her tired limbs
The aches and pains of growth
Change, beyond her prime
When all she desires is to lie down

Smooth and wash her neglected skin
Under the heavy makeup
Scars and wrinkles of experience:
Fears, happiness and tears
Still manages to shine
The faint character of her youth

As I step upon a fresh page
History of this building, I mark my small Niche
My time here, but a blink upon this Grand Dame’s life,
Yet it is mine and I love it so…
Pride of a New Home Owner

Past crumbling ancient ruins, through winding, wild forests
Navigating quickly between the towering concrete canyons
Footsteps echoing a solitary reply
Arriving at last at the Hunting Ground

Slipping between the grazing Alien creatures
From behind a cut rock cropping
Lunch is served: contents unknown
The real adventure has only just begun…

Using high definition instruments and chemicals,
(Knife, fork, napkin, salt & pepper, ketchup)
Carefully testing, our Hero attempts to dissect and define

Meat is certain, origin many possibilities: Turkey, veal, fish, rooster, pork…
(These thrifty creatures are known to devour anything)
Vegetable matter is detected, origins unknown
Uncategorized: species unique to the region

Our Hero, famished, devours the contents
The results (albeit tasty) go unidentified
Mission: Incomplete

With courage our Hero sets out into the Alien world
Each day, to tackle yet once again
Mission Impossible: The Mystery Meal

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.

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

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 art of simply BEING

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-

A hole in the ground… and no instructions.

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

Moral of the Story:
Should you happen to encounter such a Wonder
Remember to simply squat and bear it,
Camping style with Porcelain