The only place open
at this hour in the century: Kohls,
with clothing hung
in rows of full, unoccupied people.
A rabbit-like loneliness
outruns the bike I ride to my insides.
Man who throws
a glare from his eyeglasses
sifts through me:
I am a fake.
It is a struggle to find relevance in consumer-land. Best to dodge the glass. (We welcome Daniel to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay