It’s Hard to Say What Feelings Come This Way

It’s hard to say,

what feelings

come this way,

alone at night

in a simple room

not quite right,

an illusion

of security and love

cracked by allusions

of mystery and gun fire,

a thief or a drug run,

meetings for hire,

an insipid cesspool

of drooling runners

committed to a fool

lost without brains

and no direction to lead

even the lame,

and they will come

hands over their knuckles

bent and fearsome

knowing only what

is told to do

marking caves of sluts

a featureless phantom

hounded and grabbing

for spaces in lanterns

confounded by even

the simplest light

like a priesthood heathen.

It’s hard to say,

these feelings

that come this way.

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