big town blues (i) — bikini hotel

bikini hotel
not the see desire
not the atoll

this bikini hotel’s
a worn entrance
on rundown road

green or red
lion or cock
no matter

the fittings don’t
the water may be warm
the plumbing sings a tenor hound

the bedding
drunks the other night
see the cigarette holes

the lights light
the kettle slashes a growing wind
the coffee’s slecht

you wonder if the chord
that keeps the place swung
will unthread

or will the staff
from the first train
polite and tired

every hotel
inside this social capital
seems to be bikini

wann soll ich fahren…