Bones, Bones

White sheets on the floor, white sheets on our skin, white sheets laying less white on the grass. White fell everywhere, a great pure void descending over the horizon's edge, as if the world were tucking itself in after a long day of spinning (looking?). What's the big 'ol planet lost this time? Among the glossy thick stock flyers, the crushed bottles of water, the smattering of clothing, cell phones, two day old pizza that was always the wrong size, pillows on the floor, the curtains (drawn), a mirror, B12, and a feeling that could have been jealousy, whatever this sphere of molten rock and endless sea could lack, might have been contained in that transient, meaningless room.

Facing the sky, I was waiting.

Facing the sky, I waited.

I woke up without falling asleep some time around four thirty,

when it was time to leave.

The taxi driver's sister had trouble sleeping (only an hour or two a night, he says)

so Ambien, Lunesta, Melatonin were scribbled as remedy.

Everywhere in this city we got fucked.

Taxis, french fries, water, after parties.

Somewhere in Detroit, the kids breathed easily, sleeping quietly - but in this room, somewhere on the floor, sheets undulated while the sun rose over Ontario.

Facing the sky, I waited.

- Detroit