A vault-like chamber
a room full of beds,
with heads laid in rest,
thoughts
wrestled and bested
among aged bare chested
men of the road,
clothes thrown,
cigarettes loaned,
pinpoints of amber light,
that illuminate,
quite briefly,
faces,
shaven or bearded,
reviled or feared,
spitting,
coughing expletives,
explosive ejections,
furtive night time fumbled erections,
raining skin and dirty words,
from the top bunks,
I turn my page among the funk,
the story continues regardless.
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