Lice from the motel floor was our party favor, so we’re bagging up our clothes. At least I’ll sleep tonight, unlike Bloomington, where I was packing up my nose. Shivering sunrise in a parking garage where I tallied up my fears. When I get home, don’t make that phone call again or keep cutting down my years.
Tidying your name tag, you’ve got somewhere to be. You’re not answering your phone.
Rolling a joint in gridlock, an old friend’s new car. Late for the wedding, my father’s borrowed tie. Roads and faces stay the same, all the rest gets torn down.
If you see Dom, tell him, you’re never all that far from home.