30 April 2016

Poem-A-Day #61 : Motel No.1

Motel No.1

The dip in your knee collects the glowing street light

At the edge of town there is a burnt out motel it holds onto the skin of its visitors as a sort of currency against being forgotten

Lines on the road are tattoos dug in with a heavy hand

It's snowing in May the charcoal will turn silver and then probably never burn again