From the Second Floor

We’ve fucked the words in such a fashion
That we’re cruising under the radar
Holding flight patterns over the Eastern Seaboard
Ready to touch down into trashy motels
And light up Virginia Slims on the railings
Looking out over parking lots comprised of
Several shades of asphalt and Fords
Fuck it, all of it, fuck it
The room sucks
The cars suck
The slims suck
It’s all shit and it’s wonderful
Every last shady stain in the sheets
Beautiful to a tee
Fucking five star filth
Americana and ammonia drifting in
From under the sink while the cunt
In the next room over drops the
Iron for the third time
And some greasy jag bag stumbles
Drunkenly up the stairs singing of a
Maria from Oaxaca and I sneer
To no one in particular as I flick
Some ash off the landing on the
Hood of the Chevy beneath
Me just as some Middle Class
Fuck steps out of it along with
Some crack whore with gap teeth
And Yellow Eyes and leads him to
A room with an audible slur of
Words, the door opens and
I hear the strike team yelling
To get on the ground
As the woman screams to get him
And they pull him out to the Chevy
Pushing him onto the hood into
Untraceable traces of ash, he’s
Crying now, pathetically bawling, I
Shed some pity as a few more
Ashes fall from the rail, he’s
Pleading now about his family, a
Young guy, clearly a first timer
Begging not to take him in and
Never to do it again. They throw
Him in the back of a truck and all
Is quiet but for one of the cops
Handing a few bills to the prostitute
For her trouble sending her on
Her way and she walks out of the
Parking lot and down the street
Waving to a passing car that
Keeps driving and she raises her finger
And all is quiet again in the parking lot
I put out Virginia on the rail
And Let her fall on the hood below.