Cocooned in a cheap nirvana
of twilight and huddling in my car.
Staring at the Dollar General Store,
a shabby image in fluorescent glow.
Customers going in, coming out.
Moving laxly to some odd law
unwritten above the premises --
"Shop here if you're superfluous
and your clothes are a mish-mash."
They -- we -- are locked
in an unsuspected solidarity.
A shabby psychedelic version
of renowned people shopping.
It's as if a hex had fallen on all our heads
and the Fates all three thrown up their hands.
The memory of fluorescent lights
glowing so strangely at twilight
will illuminate later nightmares
better than would chandeliers.
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