Elan Mudrow


I look through the window

The store was, my shop

Isles of numb

Sprawling endlessness

There are no eyes anymore

We shop only for a deal

Priced for less than it’s worth

Bargain and sliced, a mantra

One day only


Coupons shine like the sun

Food is a box

Pizzas are frozen

Hamburgers are forbidden

I am now chicken skin

We eat labels, warnings

Our stare, altered desire

In hands that were warm

Reaching into the frozen section


How can this throbbing

Extend so far up?

Where are our skulls?

I am made in the image of sex

Wet on demand, curved

Fingers thumb through

Discounts posing as books

Containing only images.

Ads are now read as words

Our lovers must learn the gaze


My pants have blood on them

Spicy tomato pasted on me

We are spilt, pungent, sweet

Wiping frantically, away,

But the smell is…

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