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There are riches in these rented rooms,
The beige walls lined with Dalis propped,
Rather than hung, because of damage
Deposits. And so I drink bourbon
And watch Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Leaf through Simic, Ritsos, Stafford.
Talk to family, a few friends as if life lines.
If you are attractive, and nippled,
And sense the dilemma of the rare, lost ones,
Who yet can't embrace any belief simply
To save themselves--if you would test
Yourself at the flame--then knock on 203.
Who knows, we may with singed
Wings fly our way out of here. Or not.