night ladies languish
in their tattered rags and lace
well hidden by the shadows
dancing over matted hair;
a shroud for marbled statues moving there
in black and white
recital of the
tarnished, tasseled night

on broken-bastard streets
they stand and stare,
through long dead pearls
of milky blue
deanimated dervishs twirls
are made to be essentially
quite fair
across the cracked concrete of loss
a ready-mix just made for two
now who would think to draw to such a pair

there's not a lot of pity
in a dark and dirty city
as waste displaced in alleyways
where vagrants void their putrid days
in streams of steam that rise off streets at dawn

dark, door-jammed,
night-ladies lean
as lips sip fable
from un-labeled cups
filled with rot-gut fine,
cherry-berry deep red wine

fallen ladies watching
lovers writhe entwined

........b
........e
........l
........o
........w

a flashing neon sign

translucent whores
are oozing life from open-sores
punctured veins where death remains
(inside)
as fantasy which reigns
with bitter dreams of better things
all lost tomorrows claim to bring

lovers covered
soiled and stained
as fluid leaks
from wounded veins

a needle of inclusion
makes illusion last
beyond the degradation
of a whore's infatuation
with the death
of male persuasion
coming fast