don’t look for a pretty story when you come to the seedy avenues of my jungle. it’s never pretty. the smoke & fog of the city get thicker as they rise. they obliterate the midnight sky & kill every star. &
the moon ain’t nothin but a big grey rock. from the filth of the walls, my deluded mind watches
tempered metal bars emerge, real steel to keep the growling savage of me caged. cigarettes are unfiltered & putrid. the hurtful rain can’t wash the accusations of
ex-lovers off the windows. & the radio talks back to me. this woman, who stays with me without logic or purpose, parades around all barefoot in a clingy white slip, like some slut from tobacco road. she knows I get mean after
a few drinks, yet when I tell her to get me another beer, she brings it. she leans on my shoulders when I don’t want to be leaned on, so I smack her. smack her hard. she
crumbles, a miserable heap, sexy & pitiful & teary-eyed. I grab her hair, & my rattlesnake eyes tell her to pack a bag & run. find that yellow brick road before the Big Sleep wraps her in its cold, cold arms. but she won’t go. I guess you like it rough, don’t you..