A hotel lobby

inhabited by solitude

impersonal arrivals, nameless departures

a clock stops as time passes


no one communicates

just unsigned promises,

broken words no one speaks

only spirits listen


woman in a window

room unfurnished by love

unrequited and unrestored

as blinds of life unroll


dead living cities

of un-walked sidewalks,

posthumous jolts to

the surface of life


gas station route 6

a landmark unredeemed by distance

a voyage into history

but where and whose?


Alan Ford