“Hotel Sully St. Germaine” by John Hackett

I am awake. Someone
closed a door somewhere.
I hear cascading water
so I become a fish
and ride down with it.
My liquid mind swims
through the couliors
down the spiral staircase

past all the chambres.
I hear moaning; some lie awake
like me, in the wrong time zone
or like me overdosed on Paris.

The cascade again; half
the hotel is awake. Three AM
troisieme etage. Someone coughs.
I hear silent weeping down below.
There is every sort of feeling
in this hotel: pleasure,
pain, of course, too much of that,
mental barriers being broken down.

I swim back to my room,
vingt et un, deuxieme etage
and try to reset myself again;
overhead the dog star watches.
Hotel Sully St. Germaine.