Winter 1955 • Vol. XVII No. 1 Poetry |

In This Hotel There Are No Rooms (A sign outside a Hotel in Venice)

Here in this hotel there are no rooms—The only things we have for you are keys With which the endless wanderers who go Throughout a void of freedom like the dead Find shadows of their tombs in which to stay Where they can spend a night out of the world Only the richest people in the world Are able to afford the lack of rooms But for their souls that cannot stand to stay Where they can find no answers and no keys The transcendental transience of the dead Is an exclusive place where they can go You too when you find nothing that will go With what you know of living in the world Will probably be our guest because the dead Whose comfort is they do without your rooms Can have no trouble finding many keys Which you are free to use during your stay Should you discover that you want to stay Indefinitely where you are free to go With nothing but the option of the keys I warn you that though many in the world Often return preferring keys to rooms Our only permanent residents are

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Nocturne

By Edgar Bogardus

Here in this hotel there are no rooms—The only things we have for you are keys With which the endless wanderers who go Throughout a void of freedom like the […]

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