The Hotel
Eyelids flutter, then open to an ornate light shade.
The bulb unlit, like the mind of the architect
using leaf shape artex, implying a glade
The illusion ruined by the view of urban neglect.
Swinging to the right as logic dictated
feet found the indent of time’s centipede.
Hands searched for lenses, on a table, glass plated.
Instead found a bible, say a prayer it did plead.
A glance out the window confirmed the suspicion,
the office adjacent would be darkened at night.
Important, the curtains were a scanty partition
to events be they passion or anger and fright
Writing in a notebook, as duty dictated,
scrawling a record of nights not long past.
The room over scented, the bathroom door dented,
A stain on the floor – cleaned with haste far too fast.
A flick of the wrist would determine the time
spent this day, in this place of anonymity.
Granting but three stars for sights less sublime
Than others portraying less hostility.
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