the truck stop down the highway from the coal mine used to buzzsaw with the traction of the action/ today, it’s kinda like getting fucked in the ass in a graveyard/ the walls of the toilets are a literary subterfuge/ call joey has been dead for twenty years/ people still call joey every night/ leave a message/ joey was assassinated/ you can still smell the coal dust in there like it was a mop soaked in piss/ pouty high school boys hanging around, do not do it, it is not worth the trouble/ my appalachia is a twisted train wreck of sorries and no doors for the toilet stalls/ some people need to see everything/ some people cum here to listen to the voice of god/ lost souls whose pulse is pushed down the highway by the wind/

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