Within the
dark of night, that black hole lies awake & gaping,
In that
place, where once inside, there´s absolutely no escaping,
That sorry place
of brooding eyes, across the sleazy mating bar,
Where felined
females await, hope & aim for errant falling stars.
A place where
ebon clad guitarist sits waiting & broodingly bodes,
Where smoky
tango swirls off walls & sensuality in heat explodes,
And upon the
dark cornered stools where the slatternly putas sit,
Selling for
coins, their sad flesh, to cruel hands & life´s seedy misfits.
That den of
iniquity, of cheap suits & of even cheaper rank perfume,
A place in
the dark, where shadows dance with sad unforgettable tune,
Where sweat
flows along the furrows, together with bloody red wine,
And where
bodily fluids hold hands with fluids & they all end up supine.
A flint of
cheroot, a glint of stiletto, all sharp, all shiny & all ever ready,
Opium smoke
curling, kissing the blade, slow motioned, heavy & heady,
Plastered red
lips & red plastic stilettos, clicking, cliented out of the door,
It´s just another
night of explosion, in the night of the land of the poor.
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