Jack drove a beetle high
into Colorado & a winter
of isolation among long-
gone & embraced in 237
[cold – even with boilers
& light’s companionship
through a fake blizzard –
so much it almost burnt
up Kubrick’s set] as Jack
asked for JD [straight in
a glass] before his spirits
consumed him – Enough
of celluloid’s auld ghosts
& burst of lift shafts – Let
me lose my hoary past &
duck neoteric embraces –
Free me from a whoreish
[& forlorn] wraith & all of
my re-typed lines – loose
from my dreadful middle
age & book a quiet suite