The current beginning,
is an early scene, a curtained hour
in the American Motel Experience.
Knowing his own holy volatility,
Spill-O deliberately left the night table
out of his designs.
His scouts scouted, his engineers surveyed.
The motel was the actual and ideal body
for his American Soul.
A pyramid of two institutional mattresses
rose to harmonize a sky of rough stucco.
Spill-O fell through the days
like a bead of water through a series of fists,
broke through the thin crust of ghosts
and ascended to skies of ever more venal angels.
The call finally came from the front desk.
They told Spill-O just one word
and it lasted forever.
