Lost Femme For Sale Or Not?

who'll take me on one
ballistic bed ride?
up old harbours rusty meadow?

woe begone the merry
times of shoe-danglings
in the carlots or a dying
foamed pubflush

and who'll begin to fill
my mouth with flaking butts
smoking damp and in a silage
manner to each hollow cramp

who'll balance free emotion
upon his novelty menu
grabbing tight fingered a six penny
chip 'n chippen oer dale
as the moon stretches
up
and over

while quiet worms crawl
into dying cabs
erectile "For Hire"s damaged
into dark

who ' ll kill the death between?
- not me, I say,
in right with nothing