The roads keep getting wider
and the spiders in the corners
take their webs down and leave
the whole town because there’s nothing
there to wrap up and devour.
We both are standing in the shower
with our eyes closed as the mist
takes over everything around us.
She is drawing on the fogged up glass
door with her fingers making faces like
they were masks that almost anyone
could recognize, and then she cleans
her thighs with my hands not her own.
Cardboard cutouts lurk just like
specters in the windows of the neighborhood
like they are standing watch for anyone
approaching. Small offices collapse into
the largest ones because they have more
floors in between them and the ground.
Country music is the only sound
they use to fill the empty halls at closing
but the chosen just ignore it
on their way out back to find
what they were missing all day
throwing it away.
The way home becomes a montage
of half frozen man made lakes
and broken rakes that no one else
can stand to look at any more,
and every store belongs to someone
far away.

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