Greg Lutze
clunk
clunk
on the way to Blackhawk
I hit a rattlesnake
(A huge f*cker)
it felt like a speedbump you don’t see coming
where your stomach hovers in your chest
for a split second
I frantically looked at my floorboards
to make sure he wasn’t in the car
(you can never be too sure about these things)
in the rearview I saw him
twisting
writhing
like some possessed soul out The Exorcist.
one black coffee to go, please
While the congregation rises for the benediction
Of peace and prosperity for the faithful saints
Father John Misty sings boy band covers
Down at the dive bar in Capitol Hill
Where Kurt Cobain drank his last Blue Ribbon
Before Courtney fed him a shotgun
And ended a generation
i’ve only ever seen one dead body
(not counting movies and such)
one actual
very gone
very dead
ex-person
a dance party of mortality
with emergency lights pulsating
I crept close to the crowd of onlookers
secretly thankful that
if someone has to die
at least we have a story
to tell at the dinner party this evening
over a nice sauvignon blanc
or perhaps a chardonnay
his body lay like a puppet
mindlessly discarded by a child
who has moved onto a new toy
or offer of ice cream
crooked, broken across the asphalt
as if the Fates took their mythical scissors
and bored with it all
clipped his marionette strings
She spends most evenings
in a smoky haze of
Old Forester
cigarettes
and
high school yearbooks
Everyday
I travel highways and nameless roads
Thru deserts on endless pavement
But no matter how far I go
The road always leads me back to
Yesterday
the motel’s sign stutters
NO VACANCY
VACANCY
VACANCY
NO VACANCY
VACANCY
VACANCY
VACANCY
NO VACANCY
like a star running on empty