Monday, December 31, 2012
In A Room
In a room of a hotel I weep having my dusty room,
I've long been fascinated by the long and short corridors;
And tomorrow the voiceless air shall sting the parenthood,
This parent is my father, and that one my mother.
A woman in the hotel tells a different tale for thinking more on,
I think perhaps that homes are voiced by the rationale.
The feverish night spaced itself by the moonlight,
A superstition is many superstitions.
The background of the day has arrived for the backlash,
And backsides master the seat with their heaviness,
One sad day an unlucky mother has parked the joyous way.
I think perhaps one crouches low to build the boat with sons,
We assembled cities of them, with harbors, and got the news.
The ladies bow while the men outrageously apologize for their news
Told the next day, I have longed to move away
And lie stretched flat like a cat in midwinter.