FRACTAL COMMUNUTE

the spring clear air
sips through the portal
the air conditioner door
half broken leans
thinking like a verse
unended
the quiet harmonies of
voices behind the
Motel hallway
have their say
on worn carpet
of Wurlitzer Days
and cobalt blue

the basket of plastic
beneath the sink
kisses drips of
water rising
wearily and slow
a medications pace
before the rush
of night cups me
in the hands of
sleep
the worn ways
seek curled
rest
and waves of
infomercials
lap the pier
of walls
nocturnal noise
suffused with
the sound of
its silence

..