the rest is rust and stardust


My keys from the Chelsea Hotel.  I never found out who might have been there before me.  I later fantasized about sneaking into the same suite in a future time, for fun, but never went through with it.  Now the hotel is being torn down to the ground, the ghosts of Ginsberg et al. are rampant.  All the unclaimed hearts, and unclaimed art.  In limbo, perhaps forever, no matter what gets rebuilt.

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