Poem in a **Hotel
In a corner of my ** hotel room
On top of the convenient mini-bar
There sits an old and tragic poem.
You too have memorised the well-worn catchwords
And wallowed in the well-worn phrases.
For us, today, the text is writ in crimson
And the words to follow repeat themselves backwards.
The right becomes left.
The left becomes right.
[ :: breaking ]
[ king news : ]
The night is long ...
Somewhere it's day.
I stretch out my arm,
And reach for Stevens.