Motel Room Morning

nothing parallels anything else anywhere
the imagination curves itself around windows
where the glass is furthest in its slow liquid sag
to thickness at the bottom of the frame
distorting the pathos of cars outside the window
their imagined and sad journeys
destinations     too
fictional in the minds of the drivers

	my face is deteriorating
	it’s not just the imperfections in the mirror
	or unevenness of light in a motel bathroom
	if there were a diagram or a plan to this it would fall apart too
	cars stalled outside     their horns’ notes not parallel or random
	this motel room will be here miles after it’s been deserted

from Yew Nork (2014)