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I got a room at a roadside movie.

I needed a restful film in which

To spend the night.

No comedy, no

Action,

Just a quiet place to crash.

No drama, nothing

Epic, definitely no

Horror,

And my capacity to sleep inside 

Another romantic

Drug movie

Abandoned me awhile ago.

I only wanted peace.

The desk girl said 

That a restful film was showing, so

I paid and was given a tired, 

Dusty innuendo

Swinging like a naked key or

Body 

From a rusty iron

Chain.

I walked into the film.

It was playing when I got there.

I checked into the final scene.

It wasn't restful in the slightest.

I found myself inside a diner.

None of the customers or staff

Were dressed.

Not the waitress, not the cook, not

You, not me,

No one.

And no one had enough sense

Or class to be

Discreet.

I didn't need to see it.

All these people

Foaming at the waistline

For a chance to be

Objectified,

All those rabid storefront

Mannequins

Tearing off their clothes with plastic

Teeth.

It was brutal, artless,

Bare.

It was nothing like the old days.

The time of Grace Kelly.

Audrey Hepburn.

Ginger Rogers.

The kind of beauty I would pay

To PREVENT from forcing me

To view their entire

Body of work

With no clothes on.

It would have ruined them.

As it has ruined the young ones.

It's not expression.

It's exhibition.

It means you're lonely; it means 

WE'RE lonely.

It means 

We want to be loved.

But we can't be loved

By those to whom 

We objectify

Our souls.

August 2026