Hotel is  language of thinking, a cream wall
With rain behind it, words still in its sleep.
Words are  dreams in pillows, white of shape,
Centipedes getting up to go on their  business
Legs moving in parts of body,in slow motion.

There is rain inside its pockets like pebbles
It had collected in tourist season of last year.
It chimes in wind at the window as rain pauses
And thinks in curtains near the wind, in light.

Its shadows are insects waiting to be gobbled
By lizards thinking in a language of the hotel.
It is a time corridor with flickering roof lights
Walking the ghostly silences of several pasts.

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