phantom limb in poetry

there are
imaginary places in my dreams
I have seen so very many times
they eventually feel more real
than places I’ve actually been

confected places
conflated places
amalgamations of
actual locations
lining up what
they all meant
to me at once

last night a high-end mall
in a northern suburb of Los Angeles
that I know does not exist at all
where I often go within my nights
even though there is a hospital
roughly there upon this Earth

there’s a parking garage beneath
that’s for some reason advantageous
and I am forever trying to
get validated for its use
purchasing a small amount of food
from some bougie eatery within
always busted by security guards
at a fine clothing store upstairs
for not belonging in their world
let to run without my car
without even my sneakers
cast off in stocking feet
I go there every couple weeks

I’m left to wonder when I awake
is it the real and this the fake
this upscale mall so familiar
so obvious in its symbology
our world so much messier
and more diffuse in meaning
the cut-and-dry feels more true

it’s easier when all the subtext
is written out as text instead
even when those words are terse
our lack of surface clarity
makes this world seem worse