In a cheap hotel


The shadow in the room is composing
different shades to a tint of vapor red

as long dead cigarettes
are digested by hungry cans
of Budweiser and obese ashtrays
once held by the hands
of a hundred hangovers

from long nights of nothing said between
the hazy silence and unpurchased air
let in by an open window
that looked like it was moaning
through nodding blinds which couldn’t see
the discordant buzzing blink
of a neon sign outside
or the fading sense
of dread and parsimony within.

Echoes are like empty clothes hangers
always hanging around the closet
waiting to be used but instead end up
like discarded dreams
…………………forgotten by their purpose.

A string thin stream from a still running
faucet played a single note of its own
for a spilled jar of pills that lay resting
on a nightstand that would probably
rather sit next to a degraded mattress
whose blankets crinkled in the revulsion
of yet another invisible hotel suicide

and the cold fists clenched by rigor
exposing two middle fingers:
………………..a final, intuitive phrasing.

© Jason Bricker, 2016

Public Domain Photo