Terrible boredom holds sway at the mall.
The prophets have yet to arrive with their
new-fangled merchandise to dollop honey
and truth into minds dulled by the latest
movie screened in the far end of the mall.
It is in that far end of the mall that youth
get lost in images drenched in pulsing
carnage and throbbing sensuality. It is
where their parents lost their inner sight,
displaced by a digital, alt universe. The
outer view is dark and daunting, one of
sanguinary alarm. The sirens are screaming.
Dead litter the concourse and boutiques, and
blood pools in widening ponds to reflect the
40% discounts ads of the coming Friday. The
prophets needed to arrive. But they came late,
and they, too, now lay dead in the mall, just
more bodies sacrificed to the god of the mall.
