L?Hotel de Campos

Delila, or maybe it was Mary
cut off an ear
and mailed it to her mother
said Vincent asked her to
Her mother thanked her sweetly
sent fragrant lilies
and gave the ear to Jesus
understanding
what it was
to be
a flesh receiver

The neon’s broken
and all that’s left is
L’HOT
which flashes
at the darkness
in two four time
like some marching madman
but huddling for the human touch
we are more syncopated
cool
cocooned
within the lobby bar

Miss Q is lying
curled up at our feet
“Too much pink champagne”
says our lady of stilettos
and pours herself a glass
“She sent another
postcard
to Fernando
yesterday
he’s likely dead by now
poet’s do that
go and die
never bothering to tell
their distant lovers”

Tiny Q awakes
“Who’s died?”
“Poet”
“A poet passed away?”
“Passed wind more like”
she had thought we spoke
of dark Fernando
sighs then waves the emptied bottle
at the singing waiter
sits next to me
and puts it on my tab
“Flat chested and flat broke
what’s a girl to do?”
and lays her hand
discretely
on my indifference

The waiter sings on Tuesdays
when he’s had a few
tells the mostly empty lounge
about his days in Prague

“Come sit / by me / my dear
I can / be real/ly sweet
I’ve dipped / my dick / in honey
Come kneel / here at / my feet”

He thinks he’s Leonard
but this ain’t the Chelsea baby
no limos
purring
in the rain

“Oooh, but love is grand
Care to dance?”
there are no takers

Like Eliot’s cat
a fog
drowns our chamber
they talk slowly
dropping whisky wit
while I consider
the giving and receiving flesh