The gondola takes us down over the forested hills
To a small tourist village
The altitude is to conjure tacky nostalgia
A sense one is somewhere else
For we are so far away
Getting off and having anxious shopkeepers heckle
Their overpriced kitch
Their reasoning to why each item is so valuable
Stories int the form clues followed by facts
That repeat far into the day
until the personality becomes an outward tool
for promoting little argila nothings
Oversweetened treats
On exit the slight relief
For these false worlds stink of desperation
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