I ran though those rotating doors
where men were doing silly chores-
polishing statues and waxing floors
outside of those redundant stores
that line the air conditioned alleys,
ten foot poster **** sallys,
and symmetry in pale valleys
beneath the ceiling of Elysium;
more marble in here than an art museum.
A sad omen for whats in store-
just which god is this temple for?

I bought that Norman Rockwell mood
I surely absolutely needed,
then headed for the court of food
(for shopping does leave one defeated)
where I was so kindly greeted
by a man who’s head was beaded
where his eyes were meant to be.
Some would stare, but no, not me!
I ordered white chocolate ***** tea
double espresso and sugar free,
but sugar overflowed ‘til it coated the floor
and I’m already craving more.

I then stood up to take my leave,
and lock myself at home to grieve
for what prosperity had done;
our towers now eclipsed the sun.
My gentle stroll became a run,
for underneath fluorescent haze
the walls and marts became a maze-
some escalator MC Escher craze
which drowned me after several days.
The secret which I had not known
was simply that the mall had grown
and stretched itself right out the door.
Which god is this temple for?