"motels" poems
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four
anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another low life night.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 9:00 PM UTC
As for her,
She might has forgotten
where the home is in the world
For she's always everywhere—
in every countries she crossed
on every streets she wandered
at every motels she spent the night
above the sand and ocean breeze
below the tallest buildings and crowded bridges..
But you,
You make her feel like
the closest thing to feeling that again
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
I always feel like I’m running.
Not running away, there’s no such thing.
Just running forward towards something.
Something.
There’s no such place.
With how long I've been running
surely I'd have found it by now.
I've though of what it must look like.
Something could be a field
buried in a brilliant, sunlit cloud of alfalfa.
It could be a tundra,
frozen and without borders.
A rainforest,
vivid with life, green and flourishing.
A mountain, lurching
over a city,
and in the city there would be nothing but good men.
No liars, nor cheats.
Just good men and good women,
good drink and bad bars,
blocks and city blocks of motels
riddled, reeking with the smoke of cigarettes
smoked sometime post-sex.
And in the city there would be nothing but goodmen
railing
good men
raving and ranting, chanting for more
railing.
*These stairs sure are steep,
I best not fall.*
Something could be a desert.
The dunes would stretch, immaculate, across my vision.
The horizon would be sun, sand, and sun again.
Is the sky still blue in a desert?
Is desert wind built of language and faith, or just oxygen heated to boiling?
Is the night full of hushed whispered deviance?
Is the night bent over the day's sofa?
Is he waiting for sunrise?
Rise, sun, rise,
what are you waiting for?
Do it.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
Got lost in the longing,
Daydreaming farewells,
That train whistle holler,
The smell of motels,
Familiar with strangers,
Sacrifice morning light,
My strongest convictions,
Now too weak to fight,
Dear broken romantics,
Sweet Hollywood eyes,
Find peace in invention,
Deceitful disguise,
Come cold revelation,
An end drawing near,
Speak slow of salvation,
Too softly to hear,
The darkest conclusions,
Stealing your air,
Your daughter beside you,
Your wife’s empty chair,
A hospice hotel room,
That low trumpet sound,
My dad on my shoulder,
A rose on the ground,
Still learning to lose you,
Without letting go,
Turn sorrow to saplings,
Let new forests grow,
Just remember the laughter,
Your voice in my ear,
That music still playing,
Too softly to hear.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
seedy motels crowded with undesirables
shooting up
smoking ****
toothless ******** for a fix
welcome to America
home of the brave
and the crack den
what a beautiful country ours is
majestic purple mountains
slick black tar ******
amber waves of grain
skid row and soup kitchens
the struggle to survive
we fight to stay alive
land of the free
but free has hidden fees
free love?
Aids'll stop ya
free health care?
Get out you ****** *******
free speech?
Only if you don't mind mace
Here the dom in freedom means **********
********** of the free
we go through it all like marionettes
glassy eyed and blank faces
our strings pulled by wealthy men
we become older and older until death
and don't forget the debt
that will be your children's problem
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
Caressing my face,
Bubbles rush to greet me
Tickling like a sweet spring sigh.
This is only the first.
I am still half
A visitor. Stuck in suspension
Between this world and mine.
Slowly I pass
Through the threshold.
My air-sick ears adjust
To the sounds of the sea.
I stare down
At the small colony
On the sea floor,
My landing gear is down.
Customs arrives.
A grey, French Angelfish
Of the most industrious kind.
But he isn’t obtrusive.
As he flits in and out
Checking my bubbles
Ensuring I am not bringing
Any more air than I should.
No doubt he will stay near
Most of my stay
I have finally arrived,
The coral city stretches before me.
I catch the current trolley
And it whisks me past
Rocky storefronts and coral motels.
Lobster shopkeeps
Rush out of dark
Stores and stand in the street
Giant claws raised
Toward me in supplication.
Beckoning me to come
And browse his wares
While a fish I don’t know
Is busy cleaning homes and stores.
They must’ve dropped out of the school
Which passes by
The pupils in matching uniforms
Of flashing silver and black.
Clown fish wave
To me from their Lawns
Of sea anemone
Before darting back inside.
Here is the kind of place
Where I could put down roots.
Live out an idyllic life
Living in a coral townhouse.
But for me to stay
Would be severely fatal.
I’m just a visitor
And my visa is about to expire.
I look back one more time
As my head breaks the surface.
The sun stings, I blink.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
Love is not just about holding hands every day and night
Kissing each other under a blinking light
Making her scream while she holds you tight
And after the fight, both of you lose your might
Love is a touch and yet not a touch
Touch her heart more than you touch her breast
Kiss her soul together with her lips
Hug her attitude along with her body
Make her smile not make her ***
Love her unconditionally not **** her hard
Give her letters and poems, not Hickey
Make memories with her before making her a baby
Go with her in churches, not in motels
See her with a beautiful dress not naked
Take off her problems not her clothes
Make her tears flow in happiness, not in pain
Tell her that she's a blessing
Save her if she feels that life is falling
Understand her if she's doing other things
Treat her like she's the Queen and you're the King
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 5:02 AM UTC
Neon Stella Artois lights and sly hellos
It commenced as we were flew spinning
Ticket stubs and ink -stains
Oh, as our love flirted we both were seeking
Brooklyn Subway stops and ***** clothes
We perched by the equator but only when beginning
Backwards flasks and *******
Then winter solstice was challenged by spring’s springing
Strands of soft pearls and wishing wells
We shivered the anxious touch of a faux July summer’s evening
Empty bar stools and firelight
It was still bitterly February but with the mockery of songbirds floating
Two Thirty Seven A.M. and sea shells
How can the world deceive us in this fashion: fools, we accept ever-knowing
Buttered bread and hindsight
Dawn will crash with frostbite and these daisies will pay the price of their beauty’s sinning
Wine before noon and payphone bills
Wind will eviscerate this moment for once you have touched the sun the ice is more than suffocating
Dry heaving and ribbons
We were only waiting then at the heart of a train station for the stretches of shadows to lengthen
First drags of cigarettes and blue diet pills
The glitter within the dew drops stolen from our tired eyes when our first summer was stolen
Cheap motels and kitchens
We could barely exchange syllables, our melodies quarreling, our blood had thinned
Calendar pages and black lace *******
The euthanasia of the spring would have hung us too if we had breathed it in
The Last calls and lollipops
One can repose more gently in the absence of color than in the theft of sin
Bitten manicured hands and autumn leaves
We used to sleep in a room with wonders, windows, and blankets within
Midnight whispers and rooftops
It was the only place that could soften the swords in all this ruin
****** wrappers and painting supplies
Today is cruel, it cannot be summer if the world doesn’t spin
Happy hour cocktails and goodbyes
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Under a large, round, yellow
Full November moon
The chill of the cold, dark night
Slips in through my window
It fights against the heating
To send a shuddering shiver down my spine
Under the full November moon
People spill out of noisy pubs
Leaving heat, light, music
A false, inebriated happiness
To stagger, swirling home
To warm beds of love
Or cold, empty houses
And late night T.V.
Under the full November moon
Teenager's breath leaves clouds in the air
Hanging heavy and mingling with smoke
From spliffs secretly held in cupped hands
Hanging around shops, parks
Even the disappearing phone boxes
Feeling the arrogance of youth
Course through their veins
Under the full November moon
The middle aged sit
In armchairs with tea mugs
T.V. droning as they dream of their youth
When they were slim and ****
Or hungry and virile
Before it all slipped so quickly away
Under the full November moon
Swingers swap flesh and fluids
In hotels and motels
With no more passion or emotion
Than passing the salt
Under the full November moon
Prostitutes haul their tired, aching bodies
From car to car for the price of a hit
The dealers swagger, stoked full of *******
With the power and arrogance of mediaeval lords
Under the full November moon
People sweat in police cells
Under grey, itchy blankets
On blue rubber mattresses
In a white - tiled nightmare
Under the full November moon
I think of them all
As I sir writing ideas
In a cheap, lined pad
Then turn off the lights
As the full November moon
Bids goodnight
To us all
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
(the birth of Christ - in Gen-Z slang)
Mary and Joseph were tight-ship.
Mary was a real-one, and no clout-chaser
One night Angel Gabriel overstreeted with word
that Cap-G made Mary chabby with soup-baby
Mary was shook and big-mad but Joseph
was baby-goggles for Cap-G’s quinlan fetus
so Mary was “okrrrrrrrrr”
A minute later Mary and Joe had to roll deep,
adulting to Bethlehem with tribute to Augustus,
the main character, but no mo-mo swerved em’
ghetto and asan Mary was Cap-G’s baby-mama!
Later these bchaps rfts biters brang Cap-J
some bag and herb to extra flex for Cap-G
while angels lay in the cut with lowkey bop.
———————- translation
Mary and Joseph were married and in love.
Mary was an average girl not into notoriety
.
One night Angel Gabriel appeared and said
that God made Mary pregnant with his child
Mary was shaken-up and and angry but Joseph
Was excited for them to have God’s beautiful child
so Mary was had no choice but to say “OK”
Months later Mary and Joe had to travel far together,
As citizens, to Bethlehem to pay taxes to Augustus (Caesar).
Emperor of rome, but a lack of motels caused them to
Stay in a manger and there Mary had God’s child.
Later these rich star followers brought Jesus
some money and herb as gifts to impress God
while angels gathered and sang to comfort the child.
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 5:14 AM UTC
I pull up to the stop
Sign and side-blow a little smoke
Out of the window.
Wait for the last burn
Of the cigarette
Then turn to green.
One glance in the mirror
And there’s a young woman
In a Tesla with long brown
Curly hair and bright red lips.
Singing like A Walmart movie star.
**** me now sighs.
We pretend to not play mirror lick.
2 minutes trinkets.
Though I sit up a little straighter
Suddenly self wrongsciouss
And then notice
That my hair is sticking
Up just like a who from whoreville
Ah **** it.
And she lets a smile out on bail
Though I think it’s probably
At the old man waiting to cross
With way too many Christmas bags
of shopping.
And we drive on this endless
Highway of hooks and tumours, one night stands
And one life stands
And pretty moments and heartbreaks and rebounds.
And winning lottery tickets.
And Cuban cigars.
And our hearts call room service
In dive motels.
And then we find someone to laugh with.
and my car is ****
And my hair is going silver
And I hit 40 like an uppercut.
And all of us patch up the cracks
And take the pins out of other peoples voodoo dolls
And dance with what we have.
And do our best to punch above
And throw a trick still.
Like everything was beautiful once
And now even if we fade just into accolades.
We wear a A lucky shirt
A new pair of shoes hung up on the telephone wires
A revenge dress to help undress
The bitterness
A little blue that changes colours
Sometimes
As we drive away
No more a stranger
Than we ever were before.
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 8:01 AM UTC
Satan's school for girls
White short dress and false eyelashes
Bubblegum ice cream and Coney Island
Oh say that, honey!
No class just ***
Can I be your pretty baby?
Take me to the New York city
Motels,hotels,anywhere
I want to see you again,my handsome devil
And I am your little mermaid
Oh baby, how sad...
You don't like my fakeness
Old fashioned vanilla
Don't you think that karma is playing with me?
They always sai "Don't be shy,little girl"
But I am still trying to ****** myself
No class just ***
Can I be your pretty baby?
Take me to the New York city
The Palms motel
All I want to do is to love you
All I want to do is to love you
Do you love me?
He said "Yes, baby, I do"
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
Most likely to Break hearts:
She lives in a world of ***
Hands around her neck, hickies on her hips, and blood on her boyfriends tattooed fists
Dating boys who are twice her age
She got straight A's but never will live up to her potential
because her *** is shaped like a heart, and her heart is shaped like a dollar sign
Most likely to Live in her dreams:
She wears twigs in her hair and presses flowers in notebooks
Scattered around her eclectic cottage
Living off her woodland knowledge
Literally a ghost, no job, no life, no love
no ******* reality
EDITED: MARK AS VOID (she dumped him and he fell apart)
Most likely to Elope after high school:
I can picture her running away with him
Living in ***** motels on concrete streets
Surviving on paper plates of buttered toast and styrofoam cups filled with bitter black coffee
kissing under stars in empty parking lots
She loves him so much not even I can see them falling apart
Most likely to Fry his brain on drugs:
Alone in his room
Bowl packed, lungs filled with skunked up smoke
Laughing at nothing listening to loud *** rap music
I can see his future its as empty as his head
Tripping up the stairs to his heavenly room to **** down more stale air
and taste clouds
Most Likely to Become a Stripper:
He looks like a stud with hair of gold
Picturing him with dollar bills being stuffed in his G string is an easy image.
His solid heart makes him strong
but his craving for a boy to love him makes him weak
I love him
EDITED:I AM NO LONGER A ****** BUT IM STILL UNLOVED
I am just most likely to die a young ****** drunk on ***** high on illegal drugs, melancholy about nothing, and empty inside.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Like Breugel's Icarus
my brother Michael
dropped into the depths of the sea
unnoticed
Born at the bottom
of a crater of the moon
the sweetest foundling
since creation
His swaddling clothes
were denim and the blues
his pillow
a bottle of rye
This sweet soul
lived half a life
in halfway houses
and cheap motels
reeking of cigarettes
reeling from the *****
When he punched his ticket
on the midnight train to eternity
no one was surprised
I arranged the cremation
a fire that burned
more than one life
I gathered his ashes
and set out
for the crest of the Sierra Nevada
Alone
with my memories,
his ashes
and the cold stone
of those adamant heights
and then east
through the wastes of Nevada
the endless expanse
of the basin and range
A pilgrimage, of sorts
dedicated to nothing
and no one
Just the upthrust range
the solemn and self-absorbed peaks
the dessicated pine
and a wind
that scoured the soul.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
fat monkey's with beady little eyes
wander back and forth along the kitchens edges
licking their lips and hungrily kneading their hands
while i tend the pots and kettle
wearing my best low rent apparel
and listening to only the finest of garage grunge
its miami gardens in springtime
and all the pretty people are strutting the boardwalk
looking for backwater bargains at cheap motels
she is here with me in her barley there bikini
fashionably perfect in all the politically correct ways
its perpetual summer in miami gardens
all the sour hearts on the phone making travel arrangements
the snowbunnys are out in force this year
can't step one foot to a western wind with treading on some ugly mug
but they are oh so friendly
don't you want to cuddle up with some furry little monster
its wintertime in miami gardens
she strips down to her birthday suit
and the monkeys start getting itchy in
their mohair leisure suits
its hard to get comfortable in your own skin
in the land of picture perfect bodies on the sand
so lets all sit down to eat
share a meal and a mile of road
maybe we can find enough in common to keep out the cold
thinking about miami gardens in spring
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
The darkness can embrace the page a silk sheet of verbal perfection .
Empty streets and bars cast shadows that cling in mind like some ship long sailed from port.
Why must they see the end and never fight it's truth ?
We find so little compassion a snow storms emotion has left this summer night
vacant as the motels sign.
Drift for a second with me and i'll show you nothing but flawed perfection in return.
Cats in the garbage winos hold court in the parks distant to the .
The child never should know.
Poets speak in smoke filled rooms of nothing more than a broken souls frustration and second
avenue's false shine a glass charm and a freakshow diamond the ***** a true friend in
times all to often I need.
Whats your sport the streetwalker asks me in such a pure jaded sense.
wash me pilot hands are clean but thoughts seem to stain walls of the union mission
I love its true sense of decay .
Jack are you still on the road or just lost in big Sur?
Bob can they ever decode the message or just set free in the paint you cast as words?
Poets fools profits and second street saints I feel comfort in madness for
sanity's annoying plea just takes up my time.
Are we nothing more than junkies?
Slave to page and the veiw's no matter how blind they may be.
A drunkard , A clown, And a welcome stranger in many a lost souls view.
Charles I can understand your humor in the utter sense of ***** it all and the crued beauthy i reconize so very well.
And a whiskey laced brother kindred spirts seem to go better with southern bourban to
wash it all down.
Now sweetheart im not saying im any good but im always a goodtime.
We have to be ******** to be anything at all.
They all knew as so do I.
Heros gone were never heros at all.
Im the last of my kind hundred proof deadly with a **** eating grin.
Only through others eyes are we truely seen .
So I ask how's your view?
Admire many only to realize your lost in ego's storm.
Few understand and even less care.
Im always here till im truley gone.
Stay crazy friends and remember it's not to be admired.
For heros always must fall.
A breeze in the summers burning heat like many others.
I'll only leave a soon to be taken vacant seat.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
For what’s there in a name,
A line that has been immortal
Since long before the age of cheap *** and roadside motels,
Still stands true
In the age of golden whiskey
And sunset kisses, a little too risky.
For a name can make scars bleed
Open up wounds which had long been sealed.
A hit to the heart can prove fatal
Just like the story about Romeo that’s now a fable.
So what name is it, in the story of your life
That made you drink enough to forget your own for a while?
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 3:20 PM UTC
cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air
slow and steady like time was waiting
for him to catch up
with weathered leather jacket and rough unshaven jaw
bright eyes that couldn't have been more
distant than ever
he's been gone since
bitter resentment
blind nostalgia for the old gal he used to have
she didn't know
commitments and conferences kept her away
her future secured with a pinch of surety
like a caterpillar in a cocoon
ready to bat its wings away
while he had his walking around aimlessly
struggling to find permanence in anything
convinced himself that he was free and footloose
but satisfaction all short-lived
mostly found late at night in rundown motels and crowded bars
it's hard to keep your eyes open
when missed opportunities close in on you
he's drowning in a sea of disappointment
or was it the liquor?
everyone calls him No-Hope and he thinks so too
but still he wouldn't let go
and be carried away in the current
like the rest of the faceless, countless No-Hopes like him
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 9:28 AM UTC
Burma-Shave
I remember........
Getting hit in the head with the swing set;
Doctor sewing up my scalp at home,
While setting on the step.
Taking the bus downtown with mom,
Car shopping for dad.
Picked out a Ford with a windshield sun visor.
A two tone black and cream collage
Mom using it to "move the garage".
I remember family vacation:
Driving to Florida before the interstate
Before Disney became a nation
Motels with pools, swimming laps,
And all those tourists traps:
The house that reverses gravity
Burma-Shave signs leading the way
To where the fountain of youth lay
Driving to the lake,
Dad forgetting his hat
At the halfway restaurant cafe
Finding it still there the next year.
Those were special days
Weeks at the lake catching turtles
Cleaning fish guts and scales
Swimming and skiing on glass.
Great fun and no care of details
No telephone at the cabin
Copyright 2014
Richard L. Ratliff
Published in The Indiana Voice Journal
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
I want someone to love
someone to share food with
hold hands
play games with and just cuddle whenever
tease each other and wear their clothes
I want a love that'll last a long time
we wouldn't have to worry about the other of us cheating
we'd have each other and that's all we'd need
somebody's chest to hide my face on during scary movies
see each other as often as we wanted
go on road trips and rent small, dinky motels
go to drive in movies, whisper sweet nothings as we watch
eat at tiny diners or window shop together
waste an entire day at the park until the starts come out
catch lightening bugs in the summer
snuggle by the bonfire in my backyard
I want that easy, simple, truthful kind of love
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Rocking, rocking
Back and forth like the conversation
Muttered between plumes of
Cigarette smoke.
"They owe me twenty three hundred,
The hotels and motels -
Eight in all."
He's said it about eight times.
Eight in all.
"And the surveillance systems
In the rooms.
The guy in the FBI lobby
Was talking. Said things.
Better have my money
'Cause it's messed up to
Take a man's money like that."
I nod, agree.
It's all I can do.
He's talked about some officer,
The white female down at
Cherry Street Mission.
He talks about the white male
And the black male
How they pass out cigarettes
And one's a mean son of a *****
Who kicks people while they're
Trying to sleep.
I wonder who else has kicked him
While he's been down.
He's checking the clock again,
Doing the math -
Takes about an hour to walk
To get to the kitchens.
Good to get there early to
Get a bite to eat.
"'Cause man, they owe me
Twenty three hundred dollars
For the hotels and motels -
Eight in all."
Nine times, now.
"You get what I'm saying, though?
Isn't it messed up?"
Isn't everything?
Let him *** another smoke,
He's down on his luck
Though the FBI's got nothing
To do with it.
I've seen glimpses of coherency
Here and there.
Mentioned a brother who
Couldn't give a ****
Mentioned working in a
Restaurant once.
But all the while he's rocking
And losing himself again in
His head and the imaginations
Of ****** plots and FBI contracts.
I wonder what his last name is.
I wonder if he remembers what
His last name is.
"And the guy in the FBI lobby
Said they'd scrap up an extra grand
For the trouble.
Just takes time.
Don't you think that's messed up, though?
Don't you think that's ****** up?"
Do I ever.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
she liked her liquor darker
than the backstreet beat poetry
she read in the cracks
of so few hearts.
she kissed storms and they hit
her back. she called it love.
she collected tears in bottles
and whispered that it was wine,
while the world ignored her,
breathed her in
and spat her out into ***** motels,
with broken mirrors
for broken hearts.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
Yes It is I the Notorious Break Down Queen
Been to every big city and every hick town in between
Broken down more times than a little bit
All I do is hurry up and wait but most of time is just sit
Waiting in the shop to get my truck repair
Must have open Pandora's Box. does anyone care?
clutch rod bent, steering rack and pinion went to crap
stuck in a truck that's a rolling death trap
Finally I get rolling thinking this must be a curse I'm under
Good God what that sound? My engine sounds like thunder
The Truck God's are against me I just know it
I'm so mad right now I could just spit
Injectors one through five and the turbo just blew
oil and fuel all over the hood and wind shield resembling something like glue
four days in the shop in San Larenzo California
3600 dollars later repair guy say "hers a nice little bill for ya"
Not long after the breaks got hot and the air chambers took a dump
must have had happened when I ignored that **** speed bump
now what all the indicator light just came on and my oil is low
maybe I should set fire to it and watch it burn slow
this is perfect I'm just in the nick of time
get into Gallup N.M hit the nearest bar and order a corona with a lime
My truck is fixed and I'm ready to roll
I just pray when I back out I don't hit a poll
In Arkansas In a town of population 12 and one **** dog
Hung up on the rail road tracks due to the heavy fog
Two cranes later they send me on my way
a rock hit my wind shield I guess in Chicago I'll stay
Sick and tired of the hotels motels and shops
trailer lights are out get escorted by the Indianapolis city cops
Broke down again and not a penny to my name
have a water leak which I cannot tame
Held captive against my will in Atlanta for I am pleading
only for them to tell me i have a low voltage reading
will it ever come to an end I will never freaking know
almost in Minersville, PA plowed in by 9 inches of snow
A mixture of all the minor and major stuff
This makes my job that more tough
the little fixes and the big repairs in between
Now you know how I got my name the
Notorious Breakdown Queen.
Nov 17, 2009
Nov 17, 2009 at 8:47 AM UTC
lightheaded i scatter to the curb
and stare in blank wonder
at the carnival of obscene
open on the ***** street
a father wanders drunk up the
sun dappled lane
singing that tune from childhood
if he could only recapture
even a moment
but time evades him like paper butterflys
and his life flees as he chases the past
a mothers brother lurks in the shadows
hoping to be seen and unseen
in the same moment
his hand clutches the traces of a poison
that hes here to sell to imitation innocence
its the same as the ones in the cars
they just sell a different form of insanity
just another filthy lie
they are trying to hand out with a smile
she lay back in the bent perception
and plays on the dreams that might spark
but benith her bulletproof layers
she is crying for all the tenderness and love
she feels she will never know again
she waits for the bicycle man
she knows he is her escape from the carnival
there is no time to waste
i must escape this vipers nest
this wasteland that lives between the
fast food restaurants
and run down motels
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC