This hotel is an old school,

you can feel it, though time has passed.

Despite the broken-down walls,

the smashed spaces.  The people who live here

seem to be passing through.  A few hours

each day.  A few months.

Perhaps

they do have their own rooms,

but they seem to be constantly on the move.

I have been looking for my own room for some time among these ruins.

I couldn't say how long, but now

I've come out into what must have been a garden

or some back terrace.

From here, all the spaces are back to front.

Perhaps I will recognize the look of my room

by its own back.  Or from it, perhaps, I will catch

some sound.