Holiday Inn

It’s hard to breathe at the mechanic
where the cars are mid air
and the men are lying on the floor
out my window, examples of mountains
my car lived behind the house where the owner was dying
I didn’t want to come to myself that way again
on the ceiling I drew something
to delete an end
it could describe
black, and pass through text, like reading
on vacation, veering from a series
lying on the floor
a symptom of the universe
as common as the beach
climbing to the vending machine
is also not intimate
the bed is higher
to protect it
and nothing like the highway
the ferns are growing in space
the phone like a prop
is closest to the dragon fly
and bland lively gnats on the cracked ledge
where the air below the sky is
a sense and Virginia or
Paris Blue Street of Strength and small bug
fake wood and cracked dragon
chocolate and soap a feeling
I couldn't make a statement about
this beginning breaking like a broken cloud
something cold and what I am
and other cars, no food around
the bad hotel, no common air
in rain, expensive quiet
poured from the sun
I rest my soda by the stone
New Clouds
Emily Hunt

New Clouds

Emily Hunt

Floating Wolf Quarterly Cover_wolf