Yoga in a room full of empties

Yoga in a room full of empty beer cans and liquor bottles. Its dark out. The sun is coming out. A cook is passed out on the couch. My feet are perpetually wet from washing dishes. At the end of the day they are wrinkled and blistered. Pushing hard to spiral up though unknown which direction heading in when in the midst of the movement. New room. New roommate. I can sleep. Cold showers. Quiet. Bathroom smells. Pictures of the land and sky at sunrise. Conversations come and go. So do my moods. It all seems irrelevant yet so at the time. And later on. Body is quivering. Swimming in chaos filled swimming pools. Unknotting the back and limbs in jacuzzi. Sometimes I pay for it. Sometimes I don't. Bus rides to watch the forests and deers. Conversations in passing. Active and passive. Thought a fading memory.