dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
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t h e   r i v e r s i d e   m o t e l  

:   m.  a.   l i t t l e r  

  video frame : m. a. littler :




Jimmy Gatorface
Sets foot
Into room 309
At the Riverside Motel
Off of Route 1.
There are serious matters
To be discussed
The general state of things
Is dismal.
Unholy holy tunes
Are emenating
From brown speakers
And a Chinaman
Resembling Houdini
Passes our window
And glances inside.
Jim produces
A half pint bottle of Fighting Cock
From his peacoat
And lights a cigarette.
" First drag tastes like death...", he says.
The stench of decomposing garbage
Penetrates the room.
Jim stares at the wall
And starts talking to himself:
"Cross my heart and hope to die
The worlds on fire
And there ain't no water 'round
We're at war
And we're armed with nuthin' but shovels."





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