Hypnotic Shop

Once again I wonder,/with a stick of gum/if the sultan was/ a Wabash or a State man./That day I descend from the bus, I’m shoeless/  remember what was downstream,/always recovering ,/testing the gum for poison./I wind up on the pavement,/before a glittering storefront,/among blades and blowguns./(Brass buttons glint in the sun.)/The bookrack’s sultry, undulating customers: camouflage vests./Visors over bleary eyes, flags from Dixie/Brand X potions for women./A place you can’t leave once you enter/the record in bold print:/ ALL SALES FINAL-ALL SALES CASH./No one knows more than you tell them/past the gleaming towers,/long gone hotels./Blinded sided, past masters,/ a cheap buzz electric/ in the breeze of passersby.

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