You asked to be reverse-banged...! <3 (seems I can only speak in verse, heh, will try for story.)


Hotel Arizona, Day of the Dead

These are your lost loves—
That’s what the sign says, a guttering
wreck-wing of place, just over the line
in the land of the dead, or Arizona,
whichever comes first, deserted; there’s a cult
Sam says, of the missing, the murdered,
and on this the day of tibias,
femurs, sixth ribs, this day of exes ringing
the old peals they’ll catch them again,
all their criminals, their yellow-orbed
blue-flamed backflash, set them to rights.
And dance. Dance?
Dean says on the downbeat,
cuts the engine quick for the names
of the departed, Sam says, spits sand
on the step for Mary for Charlie for Ellen for Jo
for Annabel Lee, for good measure
because you read, sometimes,
and Sammy
here at this roadhouse
of the damned
your first ghost
is still the one you catch
and two-step cross the fissured floor
without grief--
that phosphorescent heart
of hers in your hands.