Blue Moon at the Belle Motel

The last blue moon jangles

through vertical blinds-

 plastic, naked slits

unencumbered by curtains


into the Belle Motel

where we twist in sheets-

sick, stiffened stiches,

under deep synthetic sleep.


Panes of light, neon paint,

make shards of shadows,

spill tainted danger

onto the hard laminate.


Temporal ticks shake us-

stale sweat, anxiety,

cannot wake us,

from lightened impiety.


It wallows, sarcous,  past

blue beams, banded night.

Terror screams-avast-!

tangled temporary blight!


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