HOTEL PARADISE

by Jay Passer

bent back on the edge of the bed
at the Hotel Paradise.

the hum of garbage truck alleyway
vibrates oily
windowpane,
arms itch, lungs wheeze
a rope dangles off a fire escape.

some moon somewhere
curtains fall at twilight
cheap pulp stokes the flames
before the mirror.

hotel deduced by dusty corridors
as
cop helicopters hound rooftops
naturally scheming,
a tiresome bone fracture
metatarsal ache
across worn carpeting,
welcome
to the truth.

bold as a body done believing
in daydreams of the heart,
sump pump of love
hospitalized.

the blinking lights behind cityscape
fallen from charred cave wall-
you asked for it.