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Hotel Rooms

I have lain prone
in those overwarm rooms
filled with centrally heated air,
while measuring proportions
of bedside table and chair.
Try as I might,
can’t transform back to lukewarm,
while my thoughts swarm
over suffocating space.
In each appointed place,
behind closed doors and shutters,
thick piled carpets pressing borders
of barren walls.
Sleep seeps into dreams
and run through disconnected scenes
that tell nothing at all.
At least no more
than the act of opening hotel doors
that never welcome you inn.

10 Mar 19

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(1018 more poems by this author)

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sit behind your women
 — percocet

Percysett you need to get behind your own self and take a long hard look through the back of your head.

Larry headroom Lark
 — larrylark