Jane Unrue - Love Hotel

recall

as if this image had been overlaid on top of everything

the tiny body of a bird inside that lacquered box

Man.

bird

To touch its tiny body was to rub an opening in the body that revealed it was a body full of tiny ants

all black

all dead

packed in.

But how could flowers

carved ones

ones in pots

be sinister? I asked.

My dear she said how could they not.

So then as if by powerful compulsion she is suddenly out of bed is moving toward the windows. In the trees below she sees the mists that soon begin to take the form of people’s shapes. They come together streaming toward the doorway down there seeping through that doorway in an evanescent chain.

The windows open out onto a darling little balcony.

She stands there

cheeks wet eyes in smears of blue no straps no cups legs shimmering sheerest

Under the impression that from life’s sad circumstances she can finally hope to

I think I can feel within myself a little bit of what this room has seen so much of through the years .

But this sensation comes before the far more pressing realization that she still is lacking in so much of what she really needs.

She knows at last that this world

though it currently sees her all in velvet with a band of iridescent sequins mixed with opalescent beads with sea pearls interlacing with the beads

is not enough.

At first I felt the background penetrate the foreground.

I recalled the sweeping skies above the rolling hills.

I heard the glittering line between them snap.

My body weakened after that as if my body was a body now without the proper firmness as a cover for a soul that suddenly had lost its legs.

Wait!

Stop.

You say you would be interested in another story as a sequel to our previous subject whose strange origins I tried so awfully hard to trace?

A story of events occurring somewhere in a time behind this time?

Well she

the poor misguided figure

went careening in the night. The falling body outlined by the moon bedazzled by the stars had been preceded by the teardrops pouring from the window to the pavement. Like the icy waters of the sea that pool of tears created as it does for all who contemplate such terrifying jumps a nearly irresistible illusion of the timeless sympathetic even comfy cozy destination down below.

For her

like others

Zillions.

who had gone before her but were now dispersed in particles accruing in the sedimentary striations stacked in colors at the bottom of the sea

this was a choice. The opportunity to light upon a treasure trove of jewels tucked in a corner. Roll about in the forgiving light of all the gold the silver carved with meaningful engravings marking lineages through generations.

Opportunity to sleep as angels do.

Blue heaven.

Angel of the deep.

The newest member of an endlessly enduring

How to get to there was what

as she so clearly understood

she had been looking for.

a world of watery chambers all connecting via countless waterhalls communicated with by gentle waterlifts so delicately lit by incandescent seashells

luminescent pearls

electric

darting

fishes

He

until there comes a time when he is able to resist

may feel so desperate to transport himself back into that long gone boudoir to use his hand

to pick the overripened fruits up off the floor to put them back inside that poor pathetic painting on the wall.

Each time he thinks of this however he will tell himself

as if in imitation of another

Let us leave those for our neighbors. They can use them. We can’t use them anymore.

Why not?

The walkway she said

double doors

Let go of me.

In other words

in life

as in the dream

already it’s too late.