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Conversations Outside the Hawthorne Hotel

Brayden Kimbrough

I turned to you, intent on asking  

“When will we know perfect truth?” 

You looked at me  

With purple eyes radiating Dayglo 

Scintillating stains on your fingernails 

And in your hushed voice told me 

“We’ve already got it…” 


The voluptuous lust of the lullaby coma 

Intent on fellating the dangerous few  

Stardust of Saturn piling on in my headspace 

Kindred complacency I got from you 


I turned to myself, with knives as my fingers 

Almost poised to penetrate the radius of information 

And for a handful of seconds, 

My blood felt like cream rising to the surface  

Oh, what a wonderful feeling 

Could you ever imagine? 

The stench of Orion or Aldous in my hair 

Cut it all off 

I am built to self-destruct in front of Heavenly Bodies 

And I will do as I am told 

How come no one wants to tell me what to do? 


Tumultuous love pumped inside orange capsules 

Delicate relicts from selective assholes 

Midnights of moaning and more on display 

Prophets of sophists talk “word of the day” 


I turned to the temple of sweat, spit, and something 

Just to find an exit sign with busted lights 

I chuckle, the hairs sticking up on my arm 

The joy of a road with an end goal of harm 

Fall 2021

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