Roach Motella

Felt a little like Jack Kerouac's dispirited specter
crawling across the faded cum-colored carpet
ghostly chorus calling beatnik rhyme
hookers in the hallway drumming on the sheetrock
night cops catcalling crime screeching radios
whoop whoop the speaker shreds
do a dance in the strobe light
stroking midnight's throbbing whistle

I leech to moldy leeward
plumb off-center to avoid some soiled stumbling stranger
pinball wizard in the labyrinth
an exotic spice spilling from an open door crack
faceless violence and muffled arguments
my head retreats into the safe fortress of my shoulders
some exuberant orgasm in apogee

the door is locked fast but the seals are public
Missouri's morning alarm clanging into my consciousness
I go slipping from sleep to sheets to permeation
He is risen
the tornado sirens decry
twisting swish swish spreading the gospel on tangled ribbons of barn tin
the motel a mezzanine to purpling concerto
chorus of the cavernous industrial washing machines
in the downstairs lobby
behind which a gelatinous receptionist flashes a sad gray smile.

TA