55



This way madness lies.  This way madness lies, / in the blue volt of an hourly motel, / light of Tuesday's ensemble for casket, / on starched sheets dishonored but still welcoming, / enseamed, lascivious, but maybe clean, / maybe a profession to the "orderlies." / "Orderlies," for the torn charade, in heap,  / for the card you have, while they have the key, / for the ashtray tip you don't think to bring, / for the paper slippers, left in plastic, / for knowing one doorway opens on hell, / for the front desk, stop watch, signature, price. / We lie mad in our bed, made free of lice.  



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