The Poetry Section

On a long shopping trip,
stoned on consumption
I wandered into the bookstore.

That oasis of thought
in the arid desert
of buy me.

I was instantly surrounded
by vampires.
All dressed in black.
Morose monochromatism.
No fun for
no reason.

The magazines were next,
full of inclusion and promises.
Diets.
Bikini bods.
Exclusive break-up news.

I found you, poetry.
In the back near the
Restroom.
Complex.
Limitless.
Tiring.
Gorgeous.
forgotten.
Dusty relics near a
well-trodded path.
True salvation at last.

I smiled and
caressed T.S. Eliot's spine
while the scent of flatus
gently burned my nose.