On a Wednesday afternoon
rubbing my face in the practical joke
of every hand-me-down truth
how I missed what I lost
in the mess of losing it
as a tourist in the backyard
of my own life while dreaming
of porcelain, and now
I'm at a motel parking lot in Idaho, cursing
Lucifer, ancient need, these damn flip-flops,
standing under the Ho-Hum marquee
with a sandwich bag of weed, a steady pull
of amnesia in my pocket, but Oh
how I love this moment -- jaywalking
before the careening ambulance,
the heart victims in their motorized boxes
muttering, YOU DUMB BITCH!... Read more