Hotel Hobbies

Hotel hobbies padding dawns hollow corridors

Bell boys checking out the hookers in the bar

Slug-like fingers trace the star-spangled clouds of

Cocaine on the mirror

The short straw took its bow

The tell tale tocking of the last cigarette

Marking time in the packet as the whisky sweat

Lies like discarded armour on an unmade bed

And a familiar craving is crawling in his head

And the only sign of life is the ticking of the pen

Introducing characters to memories like old friends

Frantic as a cardiograph scratching out the lines

A fever of confession a catalogue of crime in happy hour

Do you cry in happy hour?

Do you hide in happy hour?

The pilgrimage to happy hour

New shadows tugging at the corner of his eye

Jostling for attention

When the sunlight flares

Through a curtain's tear

Shuffling its beams as if in nervous anticipation

Of another day