waiting room.

conspiracies and truths

staring into the devils eyes

and nothing has ever

felt so better

words that matter

words that kill

I'm just in it 

for the thrill

deep penetration of thought &memory.

i remember tricky was playing

off in the distance

while

a red light

illuminated the sanctuary

that was his room.

books on photography

books on cinema

a picture of jesus

holding his heart

sheets like heaven

housing bodies of lust.

we are angels

we are devils

in a city

so tired and worn.

we are jaded

we are hopeful

as we walk

the fine line

of children at play

and adults with wounds &memories.

i remember &feel

too much, they say.

and

i don't talk enough

while

he's on his 3rd cigarette

and I'm on my 3rd drink

we stared off into space

hoping the atmosphere

will somehow absorb

the truth that lies between us.

I remember

there's a portrait of jesus

holding his heart

books on photography

books on cinema

a red light

his lingering cigarette smoke

the smell of his skin

sheets housing bodies of lust

and

tricky was playing off in the distance,

while sirens punctured the night

and neighborhood dogs

howled out their infinite sorrows.