I used to let the grocery aisles
chill me through and through –
wander all their night-lit chambers,
wine, then chips, glass cases.
Off Halsey, chicken parts and
water cheese, near Cole’s
thick dips and ruby fruits in plastic,
seeds separately wrapped.
Here, the wandering's
more strange.
Less people, and easier,
more evident.
Though I dream myself
a wicked night-bird,
lone in bars and parking lots.
Then get afraid, and flutter home,
whatever home will have me.
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
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