you haven’t lived
until you’ve been in a
flophouse
with nothing but one
light bulb
and 56 men
squeezed together
on cots
with everybody snoring
at once
and some of those
snores so
deep and
gross and
unbelievable dark
snotty gross
subhuman
wheezings
from hell itself.
your mind
almost breaks
under those
death-like sounds
and the
intermingling
odors: hard
unwashed socks
pissed and
shitted underwear
and over it all
slowly circulating air
much like that
emanating from
uncovered
garbage cans.
and those bodies
in the dark
fat and
thin and
bent some
legless armless
some mindless
and worst of all:
the total
absence of hope
it shrouds them
covers them totally.
it’s not bearable.
you get up
go out
walk the
streets
up and down
sidewalks
past buildings
around the corner
and back up
the samestreet
thinking
those men
were all
children once
what has happened
to them?
and what has
happened
to me?
it’s dark
and cold
out here.
-Charles Bukowski