lonely motel

lonely motel room

1980’s decor

hear midnight California

through the windows

and door

and I know

there is more

to life

than this

glancing at my face

in the mirror

as I walk over

to take a piss

these bags beneath 

tired eyes

salt crusted

from too many

tears cried

over years lied to

by my Uncle

the whole thing

was a scam

a house of cards

fifty-two pick-up

changing of the guards

it’s a stick-up

give up

all you’ve got

hope and pray

you don’t get shot

like Christian Indians

playing slots

break the machine

as Marines bring toys

for tots

wrapped in blankets

of smallpox

this land is your land

and its full

of rocks beat scissors

take a stand

and in the nightstand

I found a bible

but I put it down

since I don’t read


and I’m sensing friction

battling addiction

to her cooking

forever looking out


of this assylum

as I hear

the sound

of more war drums

leading new kids

off blocks

and farms

and into

harms way

now I’ll try

to forget

that the skys are grey

and my hair is turning

I’ll try

not to care

that the clock

tick-tocks loudly

in this lonely motel…

and I’m yerning

for something more…

sorry, I fell


as I was writing

too many sheep


through channels

that are all the same

and I’m all done


and its not a game

and I’m all done

funding these wars

plastered over tv screens

like scenes

from bad movies

that keep playing


and over

and over

and over


so we

can end this

I’m ready

for it to be


About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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