T. Dallas Saylor


At the nautilus-blue hotel
the jazz band shakes the walls at 2am
and we fish flop sheets, call the desk and beg,
curse the sorry, sir's and nothing we can 

do-do-dooo, the jazz band tremors. It’s a 2am
party where all the Guccis Grey-Goose, not for
little nothings, sorry sir and ma’am who curse
what we were given, and what we freely chose.

What a party, this goose-gaggle. You groan it’s all Gucci
and we’re ten years younger. As you pace the window,
I lie wondering what we chose, what freedom we gave,
and my tired legs boogie to wall thumps,

but it’s my turn to pace the window, the last ten years.
Beyond the blinds, Teslas hum the fairy-lit streets
as I sore swivel, woozy Suzie Q, bah-bump
and rifle through my meds for something stronger.

Fairy-scape beyond, magnetic field,
night that drinks itself deeper,
painkiller—loaded rifle—
my shaky-handed lover face me off,

drink deeper. Call my night name
as we swim through sheets, begging, be-
loved, quake. Efface me—in your ocean
echo room I spiral blue.

Author's Bio: 

T. Dallas Saylor is a PhD student in poetry at Florida State University, and he holds an MFA from the University of Houston. His work meditates on the body, especially gender and sexuality, against physical, spiritual, and digital landscapes. His poetry has been featured or is forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, Poetry Northwest, Colorado Review, Christianity & Literature, PRISM international, and elsewhere. He currently lives in Tallahassee, FL.