Thursday, November 3, 2016

THIS YEAR HAS DRIVEN INTO ME

An intimate disgust for the hotel rooms I used to stare up at from the street, assuming I would always be too poor to see the interiors of.  Then curious and desiring. Here I am. I am still too poor to see it, technically. But inhabiting now, how it can be. Faux marbling (?) I touch and wish I was. Bad light that I want to ruin. Very thin air... every smell that emanates from a body, or anything organic really, cuts abruptly and uncomfortably through that weak air, inescapable splayings.
Leaving feels like an exposure, only for duration of this leaving.
Once I am gone, air feels quiet and alive. Dense. Mine.

1 comment:

Millineries said...

I am polite. I hold my cough in. "Be graceful." Walk down the hallway near a machine to use a tissue under my nose. I am tired.