Ezekiel in Walmart

Bread aisle for tortillas an infant's hand around my finger sold-out souls sharing beans and lentils in Babylon, butI've been warned, I think. Sand spitting in the wind sun-faded advertisements for lip balm modeled by nameless lipswe'll never know. Watchman with a clay canvas stolen laptops ripped from their eye sockets for saying “Stop staring at me,you fools, you killers.” White pipes passing for ceiling decor our temple waiting to become fake fingernails the curdled yogurt lurking back there Mother Earth staring at a shopping cartwhere I find my Father's corpse. Who will scatter Him again? I forget this isn't the end the baby formula cabinet swinging open,empty graves in the future. A dream of dusty femurs shiny dog food split across the back a man drives his electric wheelchair into the potato chips—we laugh and never help. That's not what this is, a wintry expulsion, a caress, a kiss no one cares to give as we watch our feet fall in lineto the checkout aisle. We travel hoping to return home with new gods in plastic bags we wish weren't empty on the asphalt as we cry for flames to light the tundra.