'All the amores
of Spanish earth you see
were not in vain - '
- Jack Kerouac, Heaven

one zero five is the room & we fuck
& the lightbulb is bare / like a plug
in the ceiling or sky on the wall which
is blue in a wash over bayon the faces
it seems like the painter was tired of
the heat & the monks with their sticks &
their habit of asking for breakfast for free
or a ride on a moto to where? i'm not sure
to a room where the walls have survived
like the reading lamp / ghosts of the children
of before the time when the party had opened
its eyes to the enemies start with a knife &
end in abundance of skulls & some rice or
of northwest in famine explosions you see
it makes sense now you rewrite the bit about
incest & strings of revisionist cells or you'll
eat your own shit on a spoon (& not waste it)
the section in red marked 'away to the west'
to be sure it is waiting the sunken red carpet
of time with the agent familiar as bowie or
old crow hotels in the cigarette night & like
paper & keys & the green cross is seasonal