Flora Huang | Art by Angela Sun

abject desolation comes with silence


watched by frozen numbers burned into the wall in

blinding angry highlighter red–

my mind sounds them out carefully

seven zero zero

a cadence to march down the aisle while


carrying discount donuts and diet coke in hand, surrounded by

unfeeling racks of bread or wine or who knows what 

neon signs screaming 

ten percent off and half price and low cost


half my mind tells me it’s evening

half my mind tells me it’s morning 

or maybe it doesn’t matter anyways– 

time doesn’t really exist when

days are bleeding into weeks and months and 

years under a sickly fluorescent light


even if it did matter if it was night or day

what difference would it make?


the aisle will still be illuminated by blighted lights

the clock will still be staring with bloodshot eyes

and i will still be standing in the barrens of an empty supermarket