by Jeremy Void
We sit in the motel room/Outside the window the sky dies around us/We lie there and smoke and drink as the sky littered with sparkly glitter blooms and devours us/We drive to the movies, we drive to the pub, we go to the arcade, I flick my cigarette stub/I sit under the full moon looming like an outbreak, and we talk about philosophy/Life is good/My flannel shirt wraps her wiry figure in my own BO, caresses her with my own brand of cigarette smoke/Her face, I erase it delicately with the booze-coated stillness, a murdered line of coke, a droning delinquency we watch each other through hiccups of laughter/Through the epochs of bliss/Her tongue blisters my face, our mouths lock, a brown splotch materializes on the nape of my neck/
In the motel we drift together as the booze-coated music dazzles our minds/We’re singing and we’re laughing/We try to become one with each other but the whiskey keeps me stale/There’s a hole in the comforter from where a cigar met the fabric/A hole in the door from where the bullet punched through—a glory hole? we laugh till our lips fall off….
In the field we sit beneath trees casting shadows on the grass/In the blackness we talk about philosophy amid fits of hysteric laughter.
In the madness we roll around in bliss/We mistake it for life, the laughter like ambiguous bee stings … shrouded in love we forget that tomorrow will ever come///