diary discovered written on the wall of an abandoned hotel room

by dm gillis

Monday: We are born to disremember the chimes of life, chiming. Though hidden in our age, they are nonetheless the mud of each soul. There are Saint’s Days, quarrels and dear dead aunts. The progress of events. The steam of things. I have a wooden chair and a bed of iron.

Tuesday: There is an elevator shaft next to my room. The car rumbles past 4am. I have tobacco from an ashtray in the lobby, and the pages of a novel. A match explodes. A Hindu god sits crossed legged on a mat on the floor. I see a woman on a stoop across the street, as patient as bone.

Wednesday: Sleep breathes heavily, as though it has taken the stairs. It comes through the keyhole and stands next to my bed. I approach it like an execution, and dream of an orchard of mirrors. Its many birds are really only one.

Thursday: It’s noon. I have coffee and sit by the window. A long gone lover, ingenious in her use of zero, stares up from a pasture that was the street only hours ago. Cops on Harleys are stranded there, and the gangs and the dealers. The neighbourhood is confused. The Fire Department arrives. They talk standing next to the engine, and smoke cigarettes. One of them laughs. I am braver in the dark.

Friday: Midnight. She is tapping at my window, a gangster in the alley, with lovers dead around her. Her hot .45 has melted a Smith & Wesson hole into the dark. There are children on the doorsteps in their eager pose. There are the subways of man, the power grids of cities and the Taj Mahal. There are footsteps in the Noir and rage in the stairwells.

Saturday: I am braver in the dark. There are ghosts in the neon blue of Os, beneath the aitches and above the tees of the hotel sign. They who have disappeared into their own dreams and have had their luggage sent away.

Sunday: Something whispers, the garden is an abattoir this door has slammed for centuries better the shame you know you are the false sum. You are the shadow of an airplane across the rooftops and circus tents the car lots and strip malls the cul-de-sacs and violence the heroin crack back alleys. This has been your week. Now walk away or there will be another.

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