Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Dissolution of the Pizza Parlor

Melting mozzarella, dripping in grease.

Wet slimy floors.

A carnival in the background.

Taunting those who can no longer be.  A part of what was.

As the embassy reigns forth.  Feigning territory.

A cold hamburger.  A crying child. 

Expecting the pace of existence to quicken.  To be convenient.  Exception.  Undertaken by another flourish. 

The pennies fly crashing into a place of future solicitations.

Dollar bills crisp now waning into another yester year as global economies fall. 

Quicken the dimensional sky.  Cloudy gray creeping into the morrow. 

Yet a place to meander by when all else fails.  To spend a moment in a nondescript room.  Cornered walls.  Melding into one another.  No one notices.  Except a few who still remain. 


  1. I would like to escape to that place sometimes. I love the way you put it all together.

  2. with a good pie,hope remains,you definitely have a way with words