Thirty-Seventh Floor Keio Plaza Nightmare
Wordsshiftminds
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The air-conditioned silence Of a Tokyo hotel room Three decades ago Punctuated only by flushing And guests in neighbouring rooms Coughing, lovemaking Closing doors. Anchored like boats fishing for squid Dim lamplit pools In a dislocation Of time On the far side of the dateline Numbed by hotel suite brown Scribbling sleepily On complimentary stationery Through nights of incomprehensible TV dialogue Leaning Four feet in from the left of the Little Bar Stumbling Down corridors measured in emergency light To a dark room at the end Hanging DO NOT DISTURB On a door Where maid service Knocks Are ignored And the phone rings Unanswered Rain watermarks the dawn While death grows But the dressing table Mirror reflects just A luxury bed-head The wallpaper behind A fractured arc of lamp glow And no movement in the ghosting nightscape of glass The only sound The rising Irritation Of an unseen fly
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