Exchange

The sirens fog the yelling and the paper bags
get all caught up in furious escapes between
the automatic doors. The entrance way is chaos
and the clouds are moving so fast it is like
they are the film in the projector.

They both know about the secrets
and are waiting with their arms crossed
for the other to let out what walked right in.
The floors sound awful hollow and there’s
a dog for them to follow through the woods
where he will dig up all the trees.

The heavy gates of large estates and brighter
side communities are looking less and less
imposing every lie. The crowd shots will hide
the details in the pixels of the screen,
we’ve never seen a day without this kind fire.

It’s raining in the city here but light enough you
almost fail to feel it. They sell small talk
behinds neon signs in the same place where
humans once did damage with the sharpest
swords in history.

There is a drawing of a woman
nursing a wolf cub, stapled to the underside
of an antique coffee table. It sits in some display
and waits for the right kind of buyer,
but catches fire from the sunlight through
the window.

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