I am looking at this picture, and wondering what to write.
I see the birds; the wires; the sign; the walls, all peeling white.
The red balloon troubles me – I wonder what can it be.
Who owns it? Holds it? Tied it up? Who might set it free?
And then, from nowhere, a greater fear descends on me: a nightmare –
Perhaps it is not that the hotel has risen up in the air.
What if it is the only thing still anchored, still the same,
And it is in fact the rest of us who have plummeted from the frame?
I really like this because you've written it as a poem but also said that you didn't know what to write. It is very imaginative.
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