“In Search of…”
Trading on complacency,
time’s drudgery wounds hope.
Lost in a busy department store,
parents on a different floor.
The escalator eats extremities,
nicked rubber handrails provide instabilities.
Watching step panels morph into disappearing ground.
An escape to the shoe store,
sitting with the clerk as the metal sizer finds the hole in a worn tube sock.
Folding space, a hypothetical method of interstellar travel.
Or, you could simply put your hands over your eyes and curl up fetal like.
Many people are gone before they leave.