Barstow

I get out of the wasabi
colored car
and step in blood
that’s formed a puddle
in the parking lot.

She looks at me through
a first floor window
and unbuttons a few
buttons on her shirt.
Her first question is about
the liquor which I hold up
as she asks
while she puts ice cubes
in some plastic cups
and joins me at the table
all rooms come with.

She tells me about a fight
that broke out earlier
between two guys
about the order
they would enter
what they paid for.
They have since left
for the cold desert, but I tell her
about the blood
and it reminds her.

Durning the next drink she recounts
some old nightmare about
a building falling on her
in a city she has never even been to,
and I knew there would be no sleep
for us after.

We make the night last
until there is no night
and all the grass is wet
and the cat’s eyes dim
their glow.
There’s only so much time
to rest and it is better spent
in someone else’s arms,
but do not replicate their dreams
if you can help it.

There is too much going on
in there already.