at the end of this
tunnel is another tunnel
of crumbly light
a wick flicker
that pinches out
the moment you push
your cart to the register
the moment you unload
the groceries of your blemished trust
the imperfect shapes of your fruit
the razors in your candy bar
the breath in a brown paper bag
breathes you back
into the balloon animal
you were when you floated in
dizzy to spend something
just to see the meat case
to brave the flooded potholes
that expect you to drown with them
or leave a chunk of your rubber
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