Not That Kind of Time
It was a hotel. The pool had singing waiters who would come around once in a while only, bringing the drinks tray and setting it down next to you whilst they sang.What did they sing? It was somebody’s birthday or maybe it was a national event like a holiday only without flags. Funny thing about this hotel there were no flags at all not anywhere.
It was August. Or maybe it was October, it was hard to tell under the dome just what time of year it was or time of day either, and the singing waiters never seemed to sleep though they did change costumes from time to time. I know it was a hotel because I got a bill once, and because the food was bad but the sheets were always clean and there were plenty of towels, at least on my floor. Were we going somewhere? I don’t think so, it was just time to spend a few days or years in a hotel, helping out with the singing and the drinks, and sewing a few flags for the poor flagless who had never had any.
We sewed many brilliant flags with interesting designs upon them and one thing I can tell you about these flags is that no presidents ever waved or wagged or walked upon or hugged them to a breast full of dead machinery. It was not that kind of hotel.
Burn the Right Things
I watched my hometown burn down slowly in the stinking fires of bank highrise parking Tunnel traffic design money synthesizing itself like that’s wealth I watched a life or three burn into loss of any semblance of self-deliverance, burning with that friction we get trained to bear as it consumes soul after soul I watched a lot of burning in my time so far and it’s always the wrong things burn, not the bad rule of governments not the earth cracking box store but poor people hearts and their houses and all of our trees I hang on hoping one day we’ll start burning the right things but so far we only eat our own smoke.
Kyla Houbolt lives and writes in Gastonia, NC. Her current work can be found at @luaz_poet | Linktree. When she’s not writing she is usually found gazing into treetops, trying to come to terms with all she’s seen. You are welcome to follow her on Twitter @luaz_poet.
Photographs from a Leif Holmstrand performance.