New York City Hotel Lobby


Cocaine concierge
floating like disco balls
in Manhattan goldfish bowls:
delivering hate-mail
and condoms, ice cream
and victory gin to red-faced men
(wishing now was then)
with suicidal girls
sitting cross-legged in furs
on inexpensive chairs
of painted papier-mâché.

The eyes of a stranger, falling
through a one-way mirror;
a romance, a tragedy, a false sense of confidence,
a tête-à-tête with the Plastic Princess
out on the city streets,
where borrowed dreams
are fading in the haze of steam
rising with a conscience from the sewers.

Elevator music
plays the story of my life.


* PrettyLittleGypsyGirl (not his real name) describes himself as "a serial ruin artist... a bloody reckless lay-about... a poet and a painter and a pianist of sorts". He's a new contributor to IS&T and adds that "it's the first time I have ever submitted anything - anywhere!"