Emotional Vacancy

there’s a hotel sitting on the corner
in a city rarely accessible
with a giant sign flickerflashing
neon bulbs burst, broken, busted
but still broadcasting “emotional vacancy.”
this is certainly something that needn’t be advertised.
everyone knows.

we check-in out of convenience
and stay for the peace and quiet.

last night I dreamt I was a river
crashing and thundering through rocks
of a particularly phallic caliber.
metaphorical, clearly.
I’m sure my shrink would say it’s an
unresolved
issue.

my entire generation is an unresolved issue.

our parents had to deal with
drunks, the simple brutality of abuse
and in return we were given drug addicts
hustlers, welfare queens and the introduction
of the cycle of abuse as children,
which is sort of like a bicycle
in that you don’t forget how to ride it out.

that river I was snaked its way through streets and avenues
past the rocks and rapids of misspent youth
and poured down through cracks in pavement
until it burst into the parking lot
(cracked and worn like it was)
of that hotel with its scab colored sign.

and as I found the way, rushing down
into the empty faded boulevard
I saw the sign flicker once more
–EMOTIONAL VACANCY– 
then gutter and die.

maybe there’s hope 
for us
yet.

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