Ghost Mall
Ghost Mall
The chess king
still searches for
his foxmoor inside
the ghost mall;
she slips behind
a casual corner
somewhere
down by the Gimbels
sipping an Orange Julius
with Hot Sam.
No one sees
the old
bypass men
traipsing around
the dry fountains
overandover
in their white
Kinney’s
others
loop-de-loop,
over the Scoop
and under the
kiosk bone fields
stopping to
prayby
the Lazarus door
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