Hostel

There is a red bin and an empty jar up high,
and a creature here that talks and smiles
the floor is painted here and there in dirt,
while I lie on my bed as I listen to the flirt.

I watch the tiles in the floor gloom
as two fluorescents light up the room
and a shoe here, the right one, on my right
while the left shoe is out of sight

I see the cupboard, the one that's painted green
and the tip of my palm as I hold up my chin
and I realize that, gross, even though it seems
This cold room could very well be somebody's dreams

as I thank any and every I got here through,
for it can't be that I got here all out of blues
and I let go of the chin and hold the blankets tight,
close my eyes and end the night
and murmur whatever I've got left to say
and wait for the sun to refuel for the next day.