"proprietress" poems
The smell of your cigarette still lingers;
Note to self: Open the window...
The things you wrote to me;
Note to self: Delete...
The blame you cast upon me;
Note to self: ******* let it go...
I don't care anymore... this heart is closed.
Note to self: No Vacancy...
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"Closed for the winter season.
Will re-open in Spring."
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"Hello, hello...is this Hotel Heart?
Could I talk to the proprietress,
Lily Mae?
I'd like to make a reservation for 2 weeks in April;
a double room with hot shower, double bed,
and personal room service.
Any vacancies for that time?"
"Hello...you've reached Hotel Heart.
We're currently closed,
but will be re-opened in the early Spring;
please leave me your contact information,
and I'll get back with you
as soon as the reconstruction is finished.
Thank you for calling
and have a great day."
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 6:03 PM UTC
Morphing Memory
I sit, and watch, and wait
For the time, the place, the date
In a tree by the whitewashed gate
The moment more than a minute late
Stuck in a horrific scatterbrained state
As if insisting an ingress interest rate
Risking return to a tabula rasa slate
No longer the proprietress of prized real estate
Solely searching for the squandered second to relocate
Eternal anticipation for a sudden soothing spate
Fluctuating failure that hopefully time can eliminate
Desire to keep things straight and communicate, lifting this worn weight
May 2, 2011
May 2, 2011 at 4:55 AM UTC