MOTEL

this motel is nine rooms
of ruin
broken beds
and barred window
this museum of sin
comes out at night
with vice and yes-girls
appears at dark only
go ahead shake your head
and roll those sorry eyes
drop by some morning
arrive with the sun
you'll see it’s true
all you'll find is me
on a corner
tapping my watch

failing machines


battered and buried in romantic char
you swear no to love so construct

a machine to measure and gauge
the affections you no longer harbor

we share a bed with this device all
wires and wheels and I fear the test

and its exposing alarms and whistles
for I have loved you always without

so much a kiss we pursue fleshly merge
meters and filters rattle amid fervent urge

and waking sated, I smile this dawn
learn you never turned the machine on

Let’s Play Two

The clip-clop of cliché fills the corridor
"Does the bullshit ever stop?" Joe asks
His head gleams in the night lights of
A hospital bed he will never leave "Shit!"
He curses as they insert orange tubes
Into his ravaged body bright and plastic
New organs to snake in and out of his side
As they shave his chest for more surgery
His girlfriend sings, "Just one more," like
Ernie Banks at a doubleheader "One cut
Closer to health," the surgeon suggests
"One cut closer to hell," Joe retorts