I prefer a clean hotel.
I’m calling time-out, a makeshift break, dull,
outside boundaries of regular hours.
Looking around we need smarter drywall to excite ferns and moss to grow
Up, shiny, imperfect, never held in place.
I see your nose looks finished beneath the stopper.

Breakfast at Starbucks and we’re off wandering
headed for B terminal,
a legacy installation in profane solace.