Room underneath the Bar
The hotel in Long Beach
a lofty pentagon encompassed by nebulous cars and planes
the unremitting orbit at its crown and base
of sparks and humming exploding elements
including the stench of red-hot rubber;
The hotel in Long Beach
a monstrous cast iron drill; shattering concrete cruising to earths core
grinding masses of swirling spitting sparking
enveloping metal and oil; a volcanic molten sea
manifesting burnt out people in its sequel.
They said breakfast was at 6 and no other hotels were available.
At midnight I asked to change rooms, they said there were none.
Author notes
Written February 15th, 2005
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Comments
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Night coordination...
Whether in the taudry confines of a Southern Utah Mormon slum, the Eastern plains of a Montana flop house or the shadow-cast realities of a Long Beach hotel, there is always one way left to escape - sampled infusion. Your poem puts medicated regineration back into monumentalisict tendencies. Love the ending. ~ Ed
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