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Morning in My Hotel Room

by Bridget Sprouls

 

I am watching a spider and listening to waltzes

 

The spider has no web

No doubt she is choosing a place

 

perched on top of the comforter I have thrown to the floor

 

(the wall sweats and it grew spotty)

 

Violins are trilling on the 7th

The spider, like the nose and whiskers of a kitten

creeps along

 

changing her mind a lot

It’s got to be hard

 

Cymbals 

 

finding yourself in different countries

all new angles

 

Saltando stroke

Hello Paganini

 

The spider has not moved in a while

 

Teardrop percussion

 

My first instrument was

a pair of sticks

 

I guess we’re all putting something off

 

Quarryman

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