Groom of the King’s Close Stool

My throat, grimy as the 101,
every day I swallow every car
on this grimy expressway
heading home,
step over the grime and dirt
of my carpet floor.
My heart broke a long time ago,
my vacuum only about a year ago.

My hanging television finally fell
and cracked on some past industrious award.
I had to untangle all the knotted cords
and plug them into a new power supply.
Fantômas’ bluish mask now looks red.
My hepatic foetor smells
just like the breath of the dead.
Oh somnolence, stalking me,
peripatetic somnolence,
any panegyric is analepse.

Desu Desu Desu Desu
Desu Desu Desu Damn
Desu Desu Desu Expectoration
Desu Desu Gardyloo
Desu Poo
I’m the groom of my own night stool.

I sit outside the Pita Grille to eat
and watch all the merchandise being returned
to the department store across the street.
I have my gyros, I have my chips,
I have my Diet Coke cloaked in Styrofoam.

A wheelchair bum rolls up next to me,
up to my table as if he knows me,
“Are you gonna eat that hummus?
Because I can eat the rest of that hummus.”
His grimy fingers blackened by wheelchair wheels,
his rotted teeth widen ready to make a deal.
I hunker down like a felon in prison protecting his meal.
“I can see you’re not gonna finish that hummus
and I can eat the rest of that hummus.”

“Get the FUCK away from me.
I’ll pick you up and throw you into traffic.
I’ll throw that fucking chair on top of you
while you’re dying and bleeding in the street.
Get the FUCK away from me.”


About Rumrazor

Just a malcontent surviving in Los Angeles, working the news, writing the poetry, making the films.
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2 Responses to Groom of the King’s Close Stool

  1. Ariel Marie says:

    I can see I am not the only one that is feeling completely burned out on people. I liked the first part of this, I really did…reminds me of tmy own insomniac riffs. Someone once told me that no one talks about feces more than animal people, middle aged men and mothers. I have reached an escheleon of being a member of two groups, and honorary member of the third for the way I’m more at home in male company. The end part tho…you would probably have been mad at me. Obnoxious as he was, I would have anticipated the homeless guy before he could panhandle and have already dropped a takeout bag in his lap, so he didn’t disturb others.

  2. rumrazor says:

    More or less you risk emboldened panhandlers anytime you eat outside in LA, unless the patio is enclosed. Most of them you can wave off without saying a word. This one in the wheelchair got in my face. Big mistake.

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