Imagine you’re driving - late at night, just you and the electric glow of the radio dials. Imagine you’re at a motel on the edge of some one horse town. The parking lot is filled with shards of glass, shards like broken teeth on the pavement, under an inky blue sky - the same fucking blue for thousands of miles, pin pricked with light.
Remember to be responsible with your hands.
Today, every little thing looks like a sign from god and I find your teeth everywhere. You do not need to be good. Your smile is like buckshot to the chest.
Now you can see through me, little holes pin pricked with light. Tonight is like waiting in a long line for a movie you’ve just realized you don’t want to see. Tomorrow we’ll all wake up with broken teeth like shattered glass.
Please remember to be responsible with your hands.
Let me look at you inside out - you’re still at the motel, in a burning bed. This is a new place, a place where I am new. You are a fever I am learning to live with.
I sit down. I write some lines. I had three dreams in a row. I awoke and remembered you with the face of a jackal. I still find your teeth everywhere.
Imagine you’re still in your burning bed and I’m wishing on all my fallen eyelashes for rain, and that maybe you stay burning for a long time. I’m smoking again - it doesn’t feel good but it gives me something to do with my mouth.
Every day now it rains more and more until I awoke one morning to a deluge; I’ve never seen so much rain in my whole goddamn life, as if it’s telling me that we’re all pin pricked with light, that you’re gone from your burning bed, that I’ll still wake up tomorrow with a mouth full of teeth and glass and you’ll still not know what to do with your hands.