the rat king dances for scraps

his big toe
sticks out the hole
in the filthy sock
hanging over
the edge
of the worn out matress
on the floor
of the last motel
this side
of newark

empty cans
litter the floor
with moldy
take out containers
scrounged
from the dumpster
behind
the korean restaurant
next to the flashing
neon cross

once
long long ago
he was going
to be someone
do great things
now
he is lucky
to roll over
as the rats dance
across his naked
chest

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