new zealand electronic poetry centre


Bob Orr

online works


Just home from work
in a rich hotel
where the windows donít open
she takes off her clothes
she leaves them where
they fall. The day is over

& over & over & over
it explodes gently open.

the harbour
gleams. Foams like a
dream of apples. Like the windows

of a drowned hotel.


© Bob Orr

Last updated 11 May 2001