Sunday, March 4, 2012

Cities of Abdication

Red Shuttleworth




Cities of Abdication

Years past scenic overlooks and spilled bourbon:
hotel rooms with thin towels... tallow-stink soap.

You're acquainted with ice cream jeans.
One cannot forget old oak-framed mirrors.

A raw white sun rises like revenge-fire.
Low ceiling, false-luxury, metallic hotel rooms.

Then there's the happy dream of picking up
booze store boxes for a wobbly move to prairie.

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