for September 2016

meet me at the dead end of the road when there is nowhere left to call home
when there is no one left to forgive you, when your eyes are half closed and so drunk
you don’t remember, who are you?  this truck stop bar will be your tomb
and your ghost will gnaw on roses and the jukebox will inherit your unpayable bar tab
at the dead end of the road all the cool ghosts will mock you, all the cool ghosts
will die in their beds with their heads drawn down into their chests

maybe you can go haunt some abandoned discotheque maybe
you can subsist on bones and black feathers,
some dumb cloud above your head and floodwater at your heels
just want this handsome reflection to ask for forgiveness, just
want these cheerleaders to roundly fuck off
their touch makes you wretched

maybe you can be enough for yourself, good, bad, and ugly, maybe
one or two of you can survive this gunslinger’s waltz okay