You walk by the open room
and a skeletal hand
shoots out of dark
grabs your too tropical, too parroty shirt
You hear the diamonds
shaking like all the ready girls
the journals of Paul Gaugin
The moon comes down the hallway
and panhandles company
It is a horny courtesy
to smile at you
There is even one young girl
dropped out of vampire school
combing her long Lana hair
will tell you there is no use
spinning the radio dial
in the family cemetery after midnight
She’s tried this for years
until her feet turned to golden hooves
She became a mother, wife and child
so now she hides from every world
The radio dial is spun again
by _______ (a drinker)
on a night so cold it crackles
like the static between the stars
Stephen Hawking is floating in that space
in the form of mathematical equations
Say “hi,” will you, as you float past him
The skeletal hand starts dancing
in its own way over the body
“The Mortel Bedde”
(hence, motel)
over the body which can no longer dance
(says the boy kept prisoner at the center of the bone palace)
Oh it is terrible to be seen
Oh it is terrible to be unseen
says the skeleton seeking a dance partner at the lame singles party
left out with the stars on the window sill
whose eternal complaint of the cold is desire home
like a t.v. dinner