Mexican
motel

 

 

 

 

 

CJ Sommerfeld
Staff Writer

 

the ether is asking for your favoured shade
you ve lulled to a place where

Freud’s mind cannot proffer

so tired that the usual excitement
youd feel in a new city, idles

blurs with the previous

emotion, Pollock

belonging to the circumplex’s left side
but I need you to tell me

your favourite colour

the lattice is not as astute

to discern: it’s us

I need you to climb to sentience

long enough

to tell me a hue different than

what you told me

in your studio a few years back

we tried

to eradicate the muss

in Vic, rough and crude
in Frankfurt, robust
Toronto: unjust

its border trussed

only your favorite colour
will grant us sustenance
in Mexico City

to readjust

to a contrafactum of places

here the morning sun won't wake
you; there isn’t a window

in all these four walls

your eyes expect daybreak

in Barcelona

that’s been replaced with

the whines that smother

the halls, creeping in between the
cracked paint

the door that doesn’t close all the way
its register not high enough to wake you
toa state to tell me

your treasured tinge

the brothel gatekeeper down stone stairs
gave us an excuse, duller

hostile encounter, her

the ether is asking for your colour

 

 

 

 

 

 

Illustration by CJ Sommerfeld