A strip of hot asphalt,
Liquor sweats,
Street corners with black buzzards,
Buildings with walls that crawl with electric veins,
Inside their halls visitors play unfaithful games.

A palace for the perfumed rich,
Others,
Poor,
Fell in flames,
Boozed,
Smoked cigarettes,
Left casinos lame.

Its moon drenched in toxic absinthe,
Alleys of tin cans and porn,
A city whose ruler wore a pronged horn.

But, by the pretty lights the players still played,
Humping their way towards a desolate dream,
Empty and bleak,
Out in the desert they remained and did sleep.

© Hannah Allen

Excerpt from the book “A New City”

Visit Author Page At:
http://www.ctupublishinggroup.com/hannah-allen-.html

Photo Credit: © fstop/Corbis

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