ryan norman

HELL ALWAYS

Comes too fast like morning’s

fog that crawls across your teeth when

it’s summer and not the hot

girl type that makes you reflect on

the sweat full of is this it and will it last:

your bloodied worries never

stopping with dignity or

pride in your summer body, but

it’s the light that keeps the spirits

in their fiery dance, never shadow,

never the blanket full of winter’s

weight, yet wait, please, for the doors

to close on the Devil’s Lamborghini before

you give into the dread, the tap on a window,

a coercive hand inspecting your surface because,

fuck, it’s Hell and you’ll never see a star dip

in the night sky, the one thing that’s always

kept you coming back night after night for

all these years, and the hum of rubber on

basalt-paved roads that keep you salty

endlessly, always, forever driven by thirst

for sunlight on skin but there’s no

more sun. Not here in this car. Not here

behind this summer slicked smile.