i spent a week in Odessa. a Motel One room br visited by a depressed cocaine addict. br she told stories of her kids, while we lay br undressed searching for cigarettes on the floor. br room 124 was happy hour br for the prostitutes. br br imagine a grown man afraid br of an empty bed. br br where the street lights lay horizontal br i rode passanger seat, while Richard br drove us the hell out of there. br every two hours we pull to the side br of the road and write in a compositon book br about the week, or what we remember: br br No Doz and Red Bull do not, br repeat, do not keep you awake very long. br br and i pretened to sleep when we hit br Arizona time (just outside of Safford) . i repeat, br over sad songs on the radio, a poem i wrote br on her white wall in Autsin. her mother br scrubbed this away: br br a poem written in 44 time, under highway lights br somewhere between Texas and Arizona: br br maybe we're a few hours apart, maybe it's light here br when you're dark, but there are always a few moments br we can share, br taking a bath in the sunshine.