Route one exit no exit

route one exit no exit

get lost in back-road frost-heaves they say:

you think this is bad well you aint seen nothin yet

and then: Ford graveyard, mobile home

nubile bodies for a poor man’s throne

overruled by shotgun interludes

cinderblock utopia in this

dustbowl

fishbowl

shithole.

She says nothing.

 

The squalid corner men, former men who turned to sea-glass

they send their boxes down to sea and they tell me:

honey I aint never goin nowhere

honey there aint nothing more to see

what is it that you send to sea?

Pre-emptive postpartum, waiting at screen doors for the second coming of Christ

mama dont know her babys gone

mama dont know her baby werent never there

they told me:

girl your mother she takes those men

(to pay the bills? to pay the rent?)

girl dont let your mama kiss you with that mouth

She says nothing.

 

Not a storm in a teacup but a teacup in a storm –

it hits the wall it misses his head it leaves a hole

and that’s okay but then the coffee all goes cold

and the coppers they come and I answer the door

but nobody’s been home since days before.

She says nothing.

 

Subversive sixteen comes with a beercan bed

sleepy and straddling the line between mainlined and braindead

no dont go you gotta have one more you gotta

always coming, never going

tripping; whipping boy you wear your stripes with stars in your eyes

but those stars are maligned -

we call up psychic hotlines on Saturday nights and Miss Cleo she say

she say

aint nothin out there

no no there aint nothing there

The bible supposes we should be stoned for our sins and so we get stoned

she says something, but I lose it in the roar of exhaust.