across the lobby of a gaudy hotel
on par with the grand Budapest
big and open and yet
reeking of the same stuffy stench
as a small hallway in an old woman's duplex
in somewhere like Cornwall
as if the carpets haven't been cleaned
since the last great war.
that look that penetrates the mire and murk
that look that breaks your pace
forces your pupils to grow big
in an effort to absorb more detail
that look that breaks you
at the end of a long story, that you thought wouldn't end.
not like that.