such a whore

i tap my leather shod foot
on the red and white checks
of my asbestos floor
to the beat of nothing
in hopes my rhythm isn't lost
forever.

outside, the rain is timeless
every patter matters but
not to me
nothing matters to me

this is good morning in a small city
where a whore's body rots
in an alley not far enough away

i stop the beat
with her heart

i wonder quietly
about her dreams

the wind howls by for hours
i realize it is her wailing
my howl is lost in the slow release
of my best bad breath

tomorrow, her killer will be found
arraigned and incarcerated

but today, justice is just my hoof beats
my gasps for truth and

the bitter but disctinct notion
that one day
I too will rot in a ratty blanket
in a seedy alley
in a bad part of this mean mean town.