Run-Down Rooming House of the Soul

DRAWING BY FRANCISCO GOYA
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Anyway here is a little poem of mine for your consideration :
Theme provided by The Perpetual Poetry Engine
Below is section one of the poem
Visions of The Subterranean in This Run-down Rooming-House of the Soul
which is part of the longer poem Tales of the Cafe Apollinaire

I

In this run-down rooming-house of the soul
the Subterranean has visions of the Gods
of poetry tumbling down no longer
immune the disease destroying waves
of grass even flowers of evil
entombed poets dug up rotting bodies executed
to please the public apocalyptical verses
of the slouching beasts the whimpering
of the world dying Yeats & T.S. Elliot even
come tumbling down apparitions of faces
silent on window-panes
rats scurry through the streets
sneak into our houses keeping us captive
for days on end chattering their teeth
standing on their hind legs
blocking the only exit
no one hears our screams for help
these rats are secret agents & assassins
of the shadowy illuminati
in this run-down rooming house
of the soul-

A foul stench fills the house
a corpse left to rot
someone dying from too much cheap wine
forgotten no one comes to call
left untouched a week
looking for rent discovered
by the landlord
a dozen people sleep on the stairs
disappear in day-light
neighbours throw furniture knives
wine & beer bottles at each other in anger
sometimes at the walls just for practice
steal radios as fast as we replace them
strangers sleep in our beds
on nights we stay out
vivisectionists working over-time trying
to weigh measure quantify the soul
to suit their temperament making light of it
leaving us to live this substandard
second-rate existence in this run-down
rooming house of the soul -

see you later...meanwhile here's a song by The Dead Can Dance - Black Sun