I leapt here in time

above are prodigious neon signs,
People and prodigal tags,
metal plates with numbers

the lockboxes don’t unlock
the map is unmapped
the time is stuck
and the magazines are covered in colors

there’s childhood in it:
the dipping bird doesn’t dip
but sits in a box
there’s Aging, too
dusty photographs of faces like ghosts—pallid people we’ve forgotten

I’m in the corner, thumbing the typewriter
sitting on a red, plastic chair
that hovers above the ground
as the world turns