In a Motel East of Memphis ​

In a Motel East of MemphisThey’re all the same.The motel rooms.

Same print of a pastellandscape, faded with age.Same drapes. Same desk.Same chair. Same sheets.

Same smell of jizz...or loneliness. Same movies:Twisteror soft porn.Both suck. Same shit to read:the Bible or a phonebook.Both mean calling upona name that won’t answer.

Same loud neighbors.Same bed creaks.

And now, how many loversare doing that very thing?And how many poetsare out there writing?

Are they not the same?The lovers. The poets.Both laid bare through the artof uninhibited creation.

Don’t they both giveof themselves?Don’t they both takefrom the other?

And don’t they bothspill the same honestseeds in the process?

How thin it all seems—the walls,this paper,these words:the very fibers of being.