Last Suppers

Last Suppers

A few days before Christmas, the merchant quickly eating his favorite shrimp dish
Peering through plastic bead string curtains, spied eating at hurried pace, looks rushed
I often eat last suppers, on the verge of no change, pennies to fortunes, always flailing

Great pains surviving the world of dreams, once in a great while, a neuron blast blasts off
Business was okay for the location he was in, but that was all changing, forced relocation
Usually last suppers are the same, but no surprise, almost all the suppers the same

The building being renovated for classier biz, higher rents, up and coming upscale trips
Everything virtually laid out in the mind, just like the new metaverse, where nothing is solid
More business on the way for the purveyor of flowers, made out of anything but real flowers

Plans are real, in a universe of their own, next to the well traveled continent of ignorance
Best in town, amazing selections, carefully searched out, repackaged, sold for small profit
Throwing away all the carefully plotted out words, only poorly interpreted images showing

Attracted by downward sloping land, round corners down below, time to time, I go there
Other buzzes, pushed from the same location, landed in the same place, all failing
Later, in the new store, no one knew where, rent too high, grand displays, last ditch effort
I tried, could only buy so much, the selection grand, because no one was there to buy it