Awoke Near Dawn

Lurching
across the tablecloth,
rickshaws of meaningless verbiage
spill themselves on checkered ground
and mingle there with drying sticky coffee
ground ashes, and spent thoughts,
empty emoting objects of
desire and loathing
left discarded under this corner of shade,
a dusty respite.

I linger too long,
hours idled away painting in
the evening shade
creating dreams,
half-discarded hopes
and horrors like
cheap late night cable imagery
and scrawlings and scribbles and
noisy bits of radio static,
a phone chirping to it’s master
breaking into the noise of shared
history, half remembered days
and hot wavering nights,
bold escapes, our first forays
into the growling mouth of
the voices before us.

I awoke near dawn,
finding myself
to be a puddle,
melted in the back seat floor
of a Pontiac with no hubcaps
and no gas,
all ambition and hope
curling away from the burning light.
Peel yourself off the floor.

Run.

Run, son, but I can barely walk,
legs turned to jello and then gone rancid
beneath me sir and I cannot
move this hour, no matter how you
yell and tug.
I yearn to leave here too,
just let’s finish our beer. It’s hot out there.
Our idols are dead, and our mythology
is on the nod,
passed out on the roof of the bar,
a belt still wrapped around her arm.
It was never weird enough for you?

An empty feeling
leaves me sinking like a stone,
I want to drift but drifting I
want to hang on tight to the ground,
if just for tonight, let’s just
sleep.

Lay out in that grove of trees next to the freeway
until morning or they catch up to us
whichever comes first,
they move while we sleep so we run while they rest.
Let’s get moving,
maybe if we’re far enough they won’t catch up til sunrise.

They will eat us if we ever stop.

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