Interest on an Inheritance of Silver


The silver pieces from my father’s leather purse
never run out
while I pump them into the empty vending machine
for longer than I can remember
and though each coin I insert
makes my flesh grow thinner
like rain on paper
my skeleton stands eternal
condemned to an infinite glowing
like that stale light
from the droning vending machine
at the end of this dark hallway
where deactivated bulbs emit alternating currents
of dis orieNt AT ION
through this hotel
in the common cold after a blackout
where from haunted balconies
               flashes of lightening in the night
               look tangibly present and deeply frightening.