a call girl and she cries on the fourth floor.
63rd and 1st is nowhere
in the middle of who knows?
buzz the last dial and you're in
a basement. There's a broken bike
dead against a torn wall.
fifty bucks crumbled in crap.
it's bullshit, it's five minutes. nothing
special, nothing crazy and you wonder
why they mattered in Taxi Driver,
Sin City, Whores' Glory, God
can only forgive us
for we know not what we do.
what we do and why we do
are two different characteristics
that make us the same person.
what. you can be rich,
order up, hungry all the time
and be the creep. a whore
in debt, controlled by addiction,
her men, her man, Herman the landlord.
she likes it but doesn't know that she
doesn't, and she's a whore.
the why. you're not desperate, you're
miserable, you're lonely and you're
addicted, too. excuses because
nine to fives are 24/7 and the taste
of alcohol doesn't do it for you like
easy pussy does. easy for anyone to say.
she wants to live. it's not her fault
the roof blew off after the storm.
zone A. a phone. grade K A cup. degrading.
a look, a quickie, you cringe,
no fifty, no chance but a call
girl crying on the fourth floor
in the middle of who knows?