messy room



in my trailer, over here,
falling asleep,
but also
in your bed
(you know?)

a fast-talking dj turned down very low,
a box of macaroni, a shadow,
my only door opened by itself
when you walked past,
maybe that’s why

in the corner a blanket,
a lamp with no bulb,
record player the same age as you,
a check for six dollars,
comb with your snarls,
for me it wasn’t fake for me it was real

bootprint on the pillow,
a tape all tangled up,
rubber soul out of its jacket on the carpet

radio, rain, a duffelbag
from the war with your dad’s name
and stain, aw, just out of practice, your bed,
the light blue wall near your door