From the sky
it looks like an electric snake
undulating across the hot desert floor
the way it twinkles
and shimmers
I take over a floor at the Bellagio
and move my shit in.
I’m in total
‘ignore the band
at all costs’ mode
I just don’t
want to be around those assholes -
they sap my energy
misinterpret me
always want to party.
I seal the doors
order some food
run a bath,
meditate, but
the only mantra I can reach
is
fuckfuckfuck
in my head like a woodpecker
fuckfuckfuck
a drill deep inside.
Distracted
I drink some
honey tea
try and read some Hubbard.
That guy had
it going on, fucking started
a religion off of
his writing shit
(now there’s a
thought…ah, fuck it
rock ‘n’ roll is my racket
and I know it).
There’s
no place
else I can
go
fear, loathing
and so much more
fills me with anxiety.
On TV an infomercial plays
and I don’t know where
to put myself;
suppressing the urge to scream
even though my throat
is shot again
I lie back and make phone calls:
my management
my lawyer
my accountant
my realtor
no-one answers
I’m met by
a wall of voice-mail
to growl and snarl at
which I do
for an hour or so
fuckfuckfuck
in my head like a woodpecker
fuckfuckfuck
a drill deep inside
I take a bath
Vegas lies beneath me
sin city sanitised
fun for all the family
Disneyland with tits
and tips for
dawn brunch waitresses.
This place excited me once
but not any more
nothing excites me
the gamble is dead
the war can’t be won
Milestones become moments,
faded Polaroid pictures
to file away;
I find myself craving
some semblance of simplicity
in a life that is
inordinately complicated.
I guess I’m just burned
by night after night
of the fire fight
in the spotlight
fuckfuckfuck
in my head like a jackhammer
fuckfuckfuck
(just kill yourself,
silly).
It’s Vegas;
it steals your soul
at the entrance
and returns it at
the end-game
tattered and bloody
it fills your eyes
with dollar signs
as if they weren’t blinded already
it appeals to the basest appetite.
It’s sick
a cathedral for vulgarity
a celebration of obesity
a theme park for the living,
spending, farting,
dead.
I step out the bath
towel myself off
and wander naked
from pristine room
to pristine room,
four thousand of them
in all and I have
the best dozen.
I press my face to the
cool class of the window
and see nothing but casinos
cars and the thick black night
beyond the edge of town
fuckfuckfuck
in my head like a woodpecker
fuckfuckfuck
(just end it all,
asshole)
The desire to run into
the blackness engulfs me instantaneously,
the desire
to fill my nostrils with dust
to see the moon silent
and stars that weren’t glued
there by men
to escape The Strip,
the town, the tour
the trip
to run and just keep running
barefoot, wild like a coyote
out across the road
between headlights
down alley ways
through vacant lots
and beneath the
neon giants
that demarcate
the edge of town.
Soon they’ll
find me feral
unrecognisable and
hard-bitten from experiences
out there alone
in the night
they’ll find me snarling,
howling at the moon,
chasing my tail,
the gnarled leg of a lesser
animal wedged in my jaws,
my hair matted
my eyes a different shape
and colour.
I’ll no longer respond to
my birth name.
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