Litkicks Message Board Archive

sockroom

Posted to Action Poetry




there were seven of us living in a single hotel room
shitcake hotel, a dark room with three blankets, piles of drug utensils, and a muted television keeping the room dimly lit, we sat in its glow like slabs of fast food.between our dirty bodies, hidden under various blankets of garbage were pipes filled with weed, hash, and opium.wrapped in wallpaper stood up in the corner of the room and pissed out the cracked window, a few stray beams of sunlight pierce the gossamer smokehouse and hit my eyes, and my brain dries off, i swig some wine and sit up, rubbing my head.next to me, lay my boyfriend hidden under a blanket, my ass was sore from his fingering, a little hole torn in the seat of my pants,i stand up and walk out of the room, through the lobby past the abyss eyed clerk and into the street, counting my dollars.wrapped in wallpaper sits next to my boyfriend.i drag my oversized shoes over sidewalk stones stained with gum, salt, dirt, eyelashes,newspapers, family pictures, diapers with the babies still in them, old men wrapped in newspaper like old fish and laid down next to dumpsters with a can of beer.i make it to the bar, jkfhdsjh and order a double whiskey. i look over my shoulder to see a man with no jawbone cough hack choke on my backskin. i cut it away with a pizza cutter and he falls shaking to the floor. i kneel over him and cut a silver filling out of his tooth with a butterfly knife.
i have my drink walking up the street brwon shutters watering down beat walls raindrop plunk nickel sewege coin a car passes flinging a brick at me hits backhead blood pours stagger onto canpile dropping handfuls of sunflower seeds and coughing up wormy apple blossoms that bubble and melt landed on salty sidewalk. i puke but with a urinal cake wedged into my skull it backwashes down through my body and squirts out my nose, puke that tastes of windex and rust flakes.a man grabs my ear and leads me up the street but i stab him in the asshole with a butterfly knife chew through his achilles tendons push him into a garbage truck passing by full of starving dogs that rend his body with their teeth.limping up the street in a stupor, i stop at a roadside stand speakeasy pick up the two gallons of wine and hide in the back doorway of a spanish restraunt that throws their buckets of leftovers onto a corpse laying next to an immobile drunken homeless man laying behind the structure, suckling on the wine, and watch the face walk past,the man who was born with the bottom of his right hand stuck over his face, covering eyes, nose, and all but the corner of a mouth where he would gasp for air and insert the occasional cigarette or pipe, walking around searching for these things, a few dollars in his pocket. he stops next to me the side of his body facing me and i chug more wine. his body shifts into slump and he ambles by after i nail a mouse to his ankle with a tackhammer and a molar. i finish the wine then use the hammer to pry a living crab out of my throat that had been swimming around in the wine, and had sliced through my vocal chords with its claw, scurrying down the sidewalk with them pinned in its claw, celery stalks wind reaches into my enclave and scoups me onto the street, into the shifty eyed visions of skin seperating gentlemen peering foggy cleansed ammonia eyes out of beer soaked brains down shrieking city corridors dotted with intermittant burning birds coughing tearing feathers and fingers out with coiled cartilage wings to pierce open spilling the ink liquid bijou onto aggravated bleeding dirt warts and corns.i shambled back to the room, dragging the wine, colapse when someone dumps pennies out the window that land on me. making it to the room, i find wrapped in wallpaper standing at the entrance with a bleeding broken bottle, three different peoples hair tangled around his hand, and the broken bottle,the icon.