get back on the highway

this place is dead.
it fell down with me into the velvet soil of a fresh-dug grave.
the wisps of faces from their glory days
where their nuclear shadows burned in time
on concrete walls; you see them in their
jalopies, fretting over marlboro reds
they got by fisting pennies into the coinstar, what a jackpot, and
where to put their name in goblin spray paint tonight at 2am? ask H-i-m.
they say he only
i see them like ants shuttling home their
crumpled friends on twisted backs.
this place is like an amusement park,
except the amusements here
are people’s lives.
perhaps a haunted house.
it’s the grey toxic place where you couldn’t hold it anymore,
everything evaporating, everything broke, everyone
modern pompeii.
an american nightmare.
the next stop not for another 40 miles. same
shit food, same gas station H-e was at, same
lost girl with overgrown acrylic nails she
can’t afford to fill till next paycheck, maybe
not even then. handing you the 15th batch of
fries. have a nice day.
please help me.  i’m anonymous as a flea.
invisible as pain in the dark.

words = samantha lucero 2017 ©
image =



combed through oceans of ghosts

washing my lashes in a hot bath

Of red glass

& yet the pale breeze of a drowsy mist

long since burned out by sirens fingers

& an angry woe, braids talons into fairy tales;

words woven into headstones

branded on black hearts in litanies of decaying lore

it’s for this game of thrill & hide & seek

the dark blue & dumb hunt loves lie

with open arms, dusted to that dead pile

of ruined smiles

a maze that curls a thousand miles

words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.