how long does it take before all the faces meld into one under the deceit of the neon nights? etch a pseudonym into the corner on the wall of a room no one knows about and where the cuts meet fingertips, is where hands hung off firm shoulders in the bracing chill of a highway after the music stops. another dead name hangs on a noose as a reminder and yet comes crawling out of the yellow wallpaper. how do these sweaty bodies never get jaded? why do some names never die?

you thought you could fly but you are Icarus
and Lucifer was once an angel

no Carol, I will not be any of their wives.

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