Sleepless At The Motor Lodge

This is a poem.

It always catches
You in the end, and
Sometimes
Right in the middle.
Motel
Neon keeps my head
Swimming all night long.

Strange people arrest
My attention for
Hours,
Even after their
Footsteps
Have faded from the
Dim-lit corridors.

Absently, I flick
The lights off and on.
Cars pass,
Off in the distance,
The sound
Rises and falls like
The Highway breathing.