a poem about the artmore hotel

artmore

I’m sitting in a room
in the Artmore Hotel.
The room never lost
that dead flower smell
the plumbing thumps and shudders
like doomsday’s own bell
the water’s ten dollars a bottle.

I’m missing someone
in the Artmore Hotel
there’s a gloom in her
absence which will not dispell
She grew up in Texas,
just north of Terrell
but that ended when she went to college.

There’s a thick rain falling
down West Peachtree Street
Without her I’m
completely incomplete.
the footsteps above tap out
the Bonaparte’s retreat
up the third floor stairway above me.

I wondering in my room
at the Artmore Hotel
what does the future hold
for a bearded southern belle
and a lapsed Christian Scientist –
don’t tell me time will tell
for I will trade you cold comfort for knowledge.

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This entry was published on 08/14/2015 at 1:00 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

3 thoughts on “a poem about the artmore hotel

  1. You just have such a way, Jeb. You’re own special Jebness!

  2. Always a treat, to read your jamming with words…

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