Thursday, November 13, 2008

Sunday Detox

There you are Hotel, collapsing
onto my sofa

so, along with some strange fibers
I found attached to my arm hair
like bulbs of cured resin

we matched wits with a game
of memory
centered around which tree
goes on the color circle

I confessed in the dust I dated
Ms. Remember,

the dopest stretch of prom queen
who taught me whiskey

can stretch the children
we don’t even remember being

I twist my arm hair into a mat
for you to sit on, my dear
then pull it out, yank.

I feed my plastic cup to the recycling
bin that staunch carnivore

What room are we in anyway
does it feel like this Hotel
is falling in on itself

its like the tree, the self imploding
in on itself then popping up
each spring like the killer in this movie

I’m watching with you on the sofa.

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