I was apparently leading a bedbug marching band around the room
Using an empty bottle of Maker’s Mark as my baton when I passed out.
Afterwards I dreamt I was climbing up a mountain of black rhino guts
And the sunlight felt like the nerve-wracking breath of a recovering heroin addict.
When I woke up, I was alone in the Rip Van Winkle suite at the Hotel Lafayette
And it was night and the bathtub was filled to the brim with cat litter and pheromones.
Must’ve been one crazy party.
I stepped out onto the balcony overlooking Lafayette Square and smoked a cigarette.
The moon was bright blue and yellow like a can of Lipton Brisk Lemon Iced Tea.
A bus was burning. There were elephants wearing sequined gas masks shaking so hard
They couldn’t walk straight and were shot dead by poachers wearing badges.
I had seen enough. I stepped back into the suite, kicked aside a duffle bag
Of antidepressants, made my way to the bathtub, and buried my wasteful head in cat litter.
Justin Karcher (@justin_karcher) lives in Buffalo, NY. Recent works have appeared in 3:AM Magazine, The Buffalo News, Plenitude Magazine, and more. He is the recent winner of the 2015 Just Buffalo Literary Center members’ writing competition. A book of poems, Tailgating at the Gates of Hell, will be released in October from Ghost City Press.