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as I watched the blood orange
sunrise break over the filthy dashboard
and me
a moment
of clarity

passenger seat of a coconut and
caramel bronco, beat to hell by city
driving and unconcern, dents like
battle scars with ruddy rusted edges
flaking like the sunset of a sunburn
and leather with imprints of lost
souls that had been stretched
out of shape like an outfit of a an
overweight dominatrix

driver past out rancid breath
steaming up the lower left hand
portion of a window that was three weeks
overdue for a wash
he is dreaming of something that
doesn’t quite sit right with his
soul because the occasional whimper
and cry that escapes from his pasty
cracked lips is nothing like him

three Madonnas without children
in various club attire, draped against
one another like some erotic
decoupage with nipple and tit leaning
toward the air and legs propped up and
back in their primitive positions that
I am sure they hold when feeling
vulnerable in their favorite chair
wearing sweatpants and not this
‘invitation to explore’ suit complete with
impropriety sewn into the seams

the bronco is halfway on the
divider of this impromptu highway where
the fake green grass slopes down
to where life is pointed in the
opposite direction and I find myself
thinking, “why not go back?”

but there is nothing to go back to
except empty space and that boulevard
of broken dreams and muffled screams

my elbows are covered in a soft white
chalky glow that I suddenly remember
is the last of the coke that I had so
generously spilled on top of the
dust, dirt, blood and snot collected from
countless exploits to dark, the
unspoken places, the night and her
wickedness that I loved so much

the razor is a part of my fingers
so I preen my skin of what needs to
be inside, not outside and create

white lines on black leather like
a photo negative of loose leaf paper
I breathe in life
this holy war that rages inside of me
begins anew
as my body trembles slightly and I lean
back against loneliness
to be taken away in it and the tear
that rolls down my cheek
within the valley of my nose
mixes with the coke to make a mortar
that I can use to continue to
build the mausoleum
where I can finally lay down
and rest



Joined April 2008

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 5

Artist's Description

Something that happened on the way to the forum

Artwork Comments

  • deliriousgirl
  • kutkolors
  • deliriousgirl
  • kutkolors
  • kutkolors
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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