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 motherand

I wished ill upon myself.

Rachel don't come around here no more.

I hear she's living in

Montanawith her brother.

I wish her the best,and

I hope she can forget me.

But the ghost that comes aroundis a dead-ringer for her.

I see her in my nightmares,discussing modern literaturewith her hands around my neckin a motelwith a fashion magazinein between towns.

I was thinking about my motherand

I wished ill upon myself.