dreaming in poetry

by plermpt

a man on the street curses about a coffee table in the trash at 1a on thursday morning

it is not my coffee table in the trash

but now i am awake and afraid

can he see me?

i walked on the sidewalk beside modern day kevin hoff

the across street front lawns were a stripe of green in the distance

fraternal twin david hoff ran up on kevin hoff’s other side

they argued as they walked

then david was dead on the hood of a chrome convertible

and i kept walking with kevin hoff

the sky had a ceiling

i follow a frail woman in a sheer nightgown up a spiral staircase

her arm skin is creamy, but loose, and hangs like a bloodhound’s face

there are airlock doors on every flight

it’s claustrophobic like a submarine, and vertical like a skyscraper

an unidentified high school peer rolls her eyes at me

we finally reach the top, and climb through an out swing manway

this is ‘the old laundry room’

on the washer and dryer sit cereal boxes and bowls with shallow puddles of milk,

assorted spices and cooking oils and junk food and dirty laundry

bursting black garbage bags line the wall; the carpet is beige

she pulls back a broken mirror leaning against the wall

a large hole was made by multiple fistings, revealing a dark cubby with more laundry

like a nest, the laundry is used as blanket, pillow, comforter, clothing, couch etc

this is ‘her room’

there is some movement; i take a picture with flash

a cancerous bald woman hides her eyes from my flash

the frail woman is angry

i embrace her with my hug to apologize

she accepts, and i am uncomfortably under her armpit

her body is sharp against mine, so why am i erect?

i tell her to suck my dick, but do i really want that?

she takes my enormous penis from the hole in my boxers

it is very wide at the top and very thin at the bottom and uncircumsized

her fingers are gnarled and covered in a film of flaky meth

she needs chap stick

i say enough before she has a chance to begin

like a circus seal she rolls onto her side

and rolls up her nighgown

her hip juts through jaundiced skin; her micro dermal hip piercing and back dimple piercing are inflamed

i look back into the cubby

the ghost is watching

let’s stop this

she is digging through piles of garbage beneath a table

i wince; i expect a gun

she pulls out a bottle of vodka, a three hole punch binder

she calmly walks behind the brown couch and vomits three times