Thursday, February 9, 2012

untitled

I checked into a cheap French hotel
At the back of my hungry skull
The bed squeaks
But i don’t move
The key in my breast pocket
Zoo animals in my suitcase
Dirty underwear
Second hand novels
Packets of stolen coffee sweetener.
There is an alley way through my agitated spinal chord
An ugly nightclub and a corner store
Beneath my rib cage
It’s a ghost town
Where I’m a foreigner
Except at 4 am.

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