Lost in the Marketplace [Prose Poem]

In 2002, I took a stroll in the marketplace and discovered I couldn't get out. I was never lost, but neither could I escape the market. When I got home, I found that the market had spread into my home - into my very bedroom. Later, I realized that it had even dropped into my pocket, and I was carrying it with me everyplace I went. I caught a flight, thinking that - even if it caught up with me upon arrival - I'd have a few hours of precious freedom. No such luck. There, in the seat pocket.

I've resolved to die in the marketplace, a consumed consumer. At least the flowers will be near at hand.

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