Doesn’t that look lonely

That orange, muddled horizon

Two cars at the Americana Motel

The yellow brick and brown doors

Square, curtained windows

A jagged neon sign

Black circles and yellow arrows

A lonely smear of bruised sky

One that makes the heart swell

And the soul inflate

Broken people crawl inside

Weary travelers on their way to die

A bird cries some spring song Earth

Its haunting hollow gong calls out

Welcome to Hell and its shadowy rebirth

By

Aaron Echoes August