In a Motel

And so I left when I was just a boy.

I swore I'd simply do it all over again.

And now up the hill with snow-bit,

blue-tipped fingers, blood from falling,

but I can't go back there no more

In frozen poses, venues lined with pillows,

Atlas shouldered some silly blunder or other

You ask for more than this,

but I don't know what more than this is.

Is it a motel,

with a fashion magazine,

in between towns?

I was thinking about my mother

and I wished ill upon myself.

Rachel don't come around here no more.

I hear she's living in Montana

with her brother. I wish her the best,

and I hope she can forget me.

But the ghost that comes around

is a dead-ringer for her.

I see her in my nightmares,

discussing modern literature

with her hands around my neck

in a motel

with a fashion magazine

in between towns.

I was thinking about my mother

and I wished ill upon myself.