Sunday, October 12, 2008

the hotel room
my shivering body
i was - serious, and my back broke
watching a clock for too long
eating cabbage in a tin cup, nasty
feeling the weight of a call - from my sunken mind.

perched on a couch letting the television kill
like anything killing me, i enjoyed it. and hate it
rubbing my arms to scratch out a white hair
: toilet paper in the kitchen 'make yourself at home'
i need a drink and a smoke, come outside with me
to the balcony.

hearing you play guitar
my shadow dancing, & i'm singing to myself
crumbs on pant legs
a brush beat for the music

when i woke up i told myself;

'not much to approach,' with my hands out
scratching my back.
'i could do dishes again but how important is that,'
and it feels like i'm in
a flytrap

A stream of work
. yeah, that's endless 
impossible to quite
possible to wait
relaxing is a devil sport, I can't ever feel okay unless
i'm doing. What shit! 

i just turn on Lou Reed
& let his heroine cool
make me feel better.
never going to be okay,
he knows
A lightning bolt dead after its moment of impact
yeah like that lightning bolt
Strike! watch out for coyotes on the road
dead flesh with eyes that still look
keeping tabs on how many 
cars drive by with the party, my garage at home
stacked with liquor bottles ready to shoot
two kids on the corner tossing a mason jar
-back and forth-
full of fire. 
all of that energy
is smoke

close my eyes for me i'm too high;
they're just stuck like this
no hospitals
just your soft hands
and if you hug me
maybe the shaking will stop too.

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