the hotel hallway yawns on
for miles,
caressing the dingy terra cotta complexion of the
poc
kmar
ke
d
stucco walls.
there are no doors, no refuge to be found in
withered saltine matresses
or minifridges
or pay-per-view pornography.
you are deserted, an island lost in translation,
adrift in a sea of royal blue high-traffic carpet tile.
a most fitting purgatory.
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