Alex Stolis

Stranded at the Holiday Inn I'm blind, knocked down loaded with a trunk full of booze, cigarette-smoked and winded, I cough 90 miles an hour to nowhere. Clouds piss on the highway, blades have rough sex with the windshield. Tires slash the night hit Des Moines sideways. Green neon moon blinks, vacant eyes puncture a lobby greased with people. Two floors up, gazebo below, too low for suicide. Glass elevator shoots up fourteen floors of this business man's morgue. Do not disturb; noon check-out, fossilized eggs for breakfast, three bites of coffee at two bucks a cup and I'm awake. Can't wait to get the fuck out of here. ********************************************** 2AM at a Motel 6 in Duluth two doors down mandy and rick grapple with bra straps, button-fly jeans. stella, the front desk girl, listens to patsy cline on the radio, snaps gum, watches the ice machine rattle in time with the freeway. six-pack fishermen wade back from pete's, lost from a canadian roadtrip. rick tosses a used rubber in the corner of their twenty-dollar room. stella looks at her watch, rolls her eyes, takes another cigarette break.

[Poetry]            [Prose]            [Gallery]            [Home]