View from Sunset Motel

Lupercalia, Poetry

Sunset sounds like

unexpected footsteps

down the hall,

unfamiliar doors

clicking softly,

notes that scribble

in the dark and slide

from unexpected places

like friendly switchblades.

From the window

if you look hard

enough you can see

Papa Legba walk by

and I’m his

shattered, dead dog

my ribs an espresso

stained chalice anyone

can drink from.

Sunset smells like

pine, burnt kudzu,

and date rape

only the dick

has no money to

take you out on a date,

Peach moonshine

stains every carpet

and the bathtub’s full

of cypress blood

and all the stories

that don’t need


Someone turns the key

and someone else

says, “Pass me by,”

but every body is

naked in the streetlight.

Originally published in Black Heart Magazine July 2015.

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