The Way We Know Things
Your eyes adjust, little one
this cradle is a highway
your mother knows
the winding
of these roads
and the soft kill
of the fatherland
a poisoned heart
breaking bread
on the asphalt
behind Pete’s
abandoned Motel
Prairie Dallas prays for mercy
in an empty bathtub
what feels like a dark redemption
coursing through her veins
I don’t regret it
she says to the ceiling
her boy is playing in the headlights
of a stranger’s car
by the road to nowhere
wind blows
through a paper bag world
and the evening news says
brighter days are ahead
most of us
have to work a little harder
for that kinda light.
Horror Sleaze Trash 