Oh I Don't Like To Be...

under the gaze
of murderers moon
dirty towns
that insult the sea,

such that she

hides away for

the longest part
of everyday,
waft a
sweet
beer
floral
sweat
pheromone laced
lambent neon entrapment
luring
urging dirty moths
lay out their silver
spill briny, tinny vitality
amidst vomitous gore
over what dignity
remains