Democracy had its own aisle,
the shelves ravished disproportionately.
I pushed my crooked wheeled cart
banging into another hysterical shopper.
We competed over some vitamins.
Instructive warnings were not hanging well,
old signs sagged with faded blurry lettering.
Every week a new unsubstantiated theory,
labels up toward bad lightnings ambiguity.
The bathroom was smaller than I remembered,
flyers taped to a leaking sink.
Phone numbers of adversarial sheiks.
I found my supplements in the bargain bin.
Outside, crude ribbons flew in a man made wind.
the shelves ravished disproportionately.
I pushed my crooked wheeled cart
banging into another hysterical shopper.
We competed over some vitamins.
Instructive warnings were not hanging well,
old signs sagged with faded blurry lettering.
Every week a new unsubstantiated theory,
labels up toward bad lightnings ambiguity.
The bathroom was smaller than I remembered,
flyers taped to a leaking sink.
Phone numbers of adversarial sheiks.
I found my supplements in the bargain bin.
Outside, crude ribbons flew in a man made wind.
Colin James has a chapbook called Dreams of the Really Annoying over at Writing Knights Press. He has another chapbook, A Thoroughness Not Deprived Of Absurdity from Pski’s Porch Publishing. He is a great admirer of the Scottish landscape painter, John Mackenzie.
Wanton Fuckery Poetry 