Greetings from Planet Rim Job
He kept sliding behind the motel door
like going into hiding again.
As though he were melting
into the room.
People forgot he was there,
and went back to talking
over the music.
Everything sounded muffled behind the door.
The LSD from that house across the street
from the Barrie Jail was top notch.
Two tabs on the tongue,
and you were gone.
A boxy television on mute,
scrambled porn beamed in from
planet Rim Job.
Sweaty feet
spelunking down into the
ratty carpet.
A red giraffe trapped
inside a cave painting.
Cigarette burns
through twin bedspreads.
And every so often,
a head would peak out from
behind the door.
And a few would remember,
before forgetting all over again.
Horror Sleaze Trash 