A hotel in whose ledgers departures are more prominent than arrivals.
With wet Koh-i-noors the October rainstrokes what's left of the naked brain.
In this country laid flat for the sake of rivers,beer smells of Germany and the seaguls arein the air like a page's soiled corners.
Morning enters the premises with a coroner'spunctuality, puts its ear to the ribs of a cold radiator, detects sub-zero:the afterlife has to start somewhere.
Correspondingly, the angelic curlsgrow more blond, the skin gains its distant, lordlywhite, while the bedding already coilsdesperately in the basement laundry.
