manhattan triptych — part 1

Renunciation Form

You –
of flesh, blood and bone,
who art without paper bearing apt signature –
have been relieved of your existence.

I –
seated comfortably (as I shift uncomfortably) behind double-plated, bullet proof glass,
practicing the cacophonous melody of my protest song –
can’t help you.

The full weight of a paperless life bears down
as the outdoor dampness swirls toxically with
ancient spices and newborn impatience
in the belly of the building’s foundation
as flag and facade are displayed proudly above.

She –
shielded by the laminated wood of the plastic coated, paper adorned, chest-high barrier,
purporting to provide information –
might help you.

The woman in lavender and pink,
her hair the hue of water that has been sitting for too long in rusted pipes,
wills it not.

Did you read—
Have you visited—
Oh no, not here—
words force their way out of her mouth,
she’ll show them; off she walks, mid-sent—

Paperless existence.
Ha.

 

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