Vegas heats up in these idle lungs
Summer weekends begin their urges / a dirge
like a roar of blood in the ears, no anticipation dwells so
not even those addictions we've reasoned to be just
or justified as youthful relief...

I sit as still as the neon blinking through drab curtains
can allow / without obsessing into a tick / a nervous twitch
The lumps on this bed, like ghosts
from forgotten trysts, seem to jab / to escape /
even when sleep attempts to drain itself from the body
due to the lack of it.

It smells vaguely familiar of 2000 flushes
and ashtrays with liquor stains
hurled from mouths overfed with parties and past
indiscretions / guilt / scattered
on the carpet, and in the corner
reminds me of our foolish frivolity / heavy with loss

hope, laughter / shapes and shadows
in that corner where you vomited
while tears and self realizations of mistakes
chuckle at the face of its absurd truths,
followed by a blank stare...

Your face in its tracks of saline depths
like a painting of twilight rites of passage
which we had to burden in bewitching hours
before the sun / sobering with early light
those times we diluted and ache for still

As I recollect in the hush of a motel 8
drunken neighbors with their sounds of *** / taboo /
echoes our lost twenties
learning to live by fine emotions - secret messages
from inner devils and Mormon Jesus

washing over us / growing up, by latter saints
losing days to nights / so doubtful and wretchedly alive
in the uncertainty of our pages yet to turn
searching for sage & celebration./
losing our true selves with every high...

I sit in this motel room
wretchedly alive / in and out of neon lights
trying to find a good emotion / some worth
staring at the corner shadows of you / vomiting
messages that I only now dematerialize
from sobs lost to the echoes

laughter still to tweet or fly / to the cloud
to oblivion and memory's burrow
I sit in the heat / still unfeeling / now
before dawn, the hours hollow
many a people inside / out there in this city

Still wretchedly in denial
not one will bother me to pity
a life like a motel room
by the hour / we abide by its tune

the hollow breathing of time
the real currency / their ivory tower.
my heaven seems malnourished without
looming over / where's the wonder?

In the distance, far from home,
I sense the arrival of falling skies
Father's angry thunder
even in the false safety of dark rooms,
while we hide
we all will shudder...


(It is not a home if lived in alone
and death occupies both my shoulders)