This air feels like
Empty Hotel Evenings
like dreams that come from the
bottom of your stomach
and it tastes like paper that money is printed on
unscented, rough air
intentional like it was made to rust this place
and would but for the wax
surfaces.
This place feels like
the kind of paint that flakes the moment
it goes on
as if the years just gave way
and piled up,
this kind of Empty Hotel Evening
I cannot just sit here
otherwise I might become
just another lobby lampshade
in this existential air
as if fresh from the
manufacturer’s truck
and I crave the bar
where if I could continue to sit
because at least I would become
another barroom bottle
for others’ Empty Hotel Evenings.
