6

I'm stuck in loan to a motel that's yellow 

like an unkempt tide pool, groggy fish-tank

super broke,

can't pay rent to my profligate landlord, a roué

i yank my hair and slap my face in the most ghastly horrors one dare looks can see

screaming, where Dover 𝘣𝘦?

There is a big storm coming.

it is not tempest,

the storm is placid.

yes, that's the horror in itself

a sort of stale about air,

a dank stillness to it

aggregates like Galveston foam

people walking in stolid plight,

no goad, nor moat

brio, elan

i know, i know

for their skin like a characin

from Rio Negro, Brazil

Cyanogaster Noctivaga,

blue-bellied tiny mirror of a thing