Imagine yourself the fairly affluent tourist
reclining semi-Roman in the parlor car;
luggage, your outer self, bestowed about you
neat as a knife.
Later, from those geometric measures
(clasped securely, you with only key
for QED) will draw your daintiness:
clean shirt.
Reflective palm on chin, affirm the pastoral
windowed without or (better) deny with a good
detective book where fate comes cleaner than to
the scraggling farmer.
At destination, deeds to be performed
bring blush of victory; room register,
impressive as a treaty, requests your trumpeted
flourish of pen.
Name: Time: From Where: To Here: Date.
Nib like a rider over the naked page
races absolute and sure, for you
know all the answers,
Vivid as nightmare everything comes true.
The hotel room clicks open to your touch
brisk as a bellboy; icewater, tub, towel
wait like a wife.
The gracious map on the gracious desk from the gracious
manager points out the pleasure spots;
valet, barber, blonde chambermaid are at your beck
easy as death.
View is all you wished and more beside;
for knowing you will not be here long, will not
return soon (if ever), the charm increases like passion,
past, or peace.
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