the central air
in this fleabite
hotel on the ass end
of oklahoma city
roars like a
jet engine as i
seek the temperature
that minimizes the
necessity to listen
to being able to
find a few moments
sleep before the walls
rattle as it kicks on
tossing and turning
the sound of dishes
replaces my sparrows
the television noise
bleeds through the
walls and i want to

scream

i should be packed
sipping coffee
waiting for breakfast
then traveling down
i35 towards duncan
not waiting impatiently
for fed ex to arrive
to complete the task
of yesterday’s fuck ups

my existence has
gone from darkly
humorous to
appallingly bleak
or maybe i have
just forgotten how
to smile in the face
of impending doom
another survival trait
lost to the swirling
sands of ineptitude

writing poetry
surrounded by
mannequins with
no sense of self
only a selfish sense
no one can see
through their sloppy
web of lies
trapped in a hotel
close enough to home
to outline hell
as the air kicks on
and i choke down
another soul wrenching

scream