CROSSING THE PARKING LOT

I put on my samurai

glare for

crossing the shopping centre parking lot

sometimes I turn up intensity

to ninja frigidity

saves me

having to

share any time-of-

daying, be subject to

your spiritual cacophonies (who

would have thought

the purity if

gospel could attract such carrion?)

a bottle from the

bottle store five uncompromising

strides and then I am home again

hoping to

brush off all that is dull

and is empty midst that

not unattractive plethora

of foreign substances

all that resonant noise, dead drone of a truth long

outliving its moment people

still shamed

to believe in.