The Van Pelt
Artisans & Merchants
Mushrooms, weeds and saplings, a bug's castle poking through
With purpose and power without the backer of a financier
Closing their doors overnight, like a green harvest enriching soils
To applause and hope and expectance
Or better yet, just holding down the fort for the rest of us
Selling wares as conduits and conduits as wares
The romance and mistake of protagonizing a place
The empowering loneliness of regarding it as simply a space
A design or definitive lack of one
Justifying the importance I placed on hanging out with you
A new language to revisit daily tasks
Adding deepness to otherwise empty acts

I walked up to the corner and was stopped by the red light
Surveyed the scene around my feet from front to left to right
The Thinkers think
The Merchants hawk
They all meet for drinks
Where the talking gets talked
The writer writes
The server serves
While the others observe
The others observe

Apophenia amongst friends who ponder the opposites thereof
A white pigeon as pretty as a rock dove
Necessary basics like tidbits from a book I just read
And indefinite inventions to wrap delicacies in bread
A market with nothing you wanted to buy
But you felt the collection as a whole was beneficial for the eyes
The twists of colons during feed versus those afllicted with greed
Other words for love and a sickness we'll overcome
Ideas for dates, papayas carved like artichokes on stakes
Theories of men with nicknames and those that have none
Proposing a question to yourself to be worked out on a stroll
Straight up the street against the perpendicular scroll
Making a day on a dime, singing a song on a dime, falling for you on a dime
Finding openings all the time
Person as synecdoche, pieces of you as pasture, new shoes as accomplishment
For all the kinks the old ones worked out

Rare wisdoms from exotic animals; translucence from caves exposing everything; a chameleon that sweats when it's hot diminishing his cover to help him find a lover