.
Z. Azzabi
.
The lame whore still pacing on the sidewalk
To and fro
Puffing in her cupped hands from cold
Looking for her lost shoe
That she can neither swap
Nor sell the one she still has
In her left lame foot
Clientele is scanty
Because the damn cold
Makes people sexually cool
Like ice
And old
The cross eyed mountain
watching from above
imagining himself having
some free love with her
but she was lost deep
into her internal world
somewhere too far
watching the warm lights
shed out on the wet street
from the opposite bar
a cat looked at her
mewed and went away
take away flesh
every one takes his share
nothing is to stay
lame leg, shoe, body, and all
passing thru oblivion
with no intention to stay
road signs lead your way
left towards nowhere
right,
right away to hell
