Death of Where I Was

On the cool floor I lay
where I had spent the last year
invigorated and incarcerated
where invested and wasted spilled
in a puddle my blood.


Across the counter from
the grill slaved over and over
how many omelets how few
dollars from how few customers
wandering randomly in.

At the height of hallucination
business plan meticulously fixed
I went to a handful of investors
who could not lose I insisted
on the way on the way up.

The world turns on belief
not just mine everybody’s
the cash register knows no strife
or failure only petty plusses
and moribund minuses.

Free enterprise.

That crucial period of unknowing
lends itself to interpretation
generous and fantastic glow
of forth flowing and back flowing
across the dumb palm.

Then comes the ponderosity
of hope the budgetary tonnage
the number of hours days years
it would really require to scrimmage
some noise out of the quiet.

The waiting was a green ghost
they would come said the plan
the bullet points and projections
in my chest like dull holes
laughing about lying.

On the cool floor I lie dark
the only lights in the back where
the cooler is still fully stocked
for the customers who never came
for me to shake hands and thank.

Freed from enterprise.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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