MOON FOR SOME WHORE

Who could say one way or the
other what lock this key goes
to no bitch on this end just
a blue blanket saltines cab
fare home you'll be back like
you have a choice it is written
in styptic pencil he who shuns
out the specter of tomorrow
sets the table for ptomaine
and no salad forks to boot if
we can walk under stars I can
dance on your grave mind the
ivy someone's been sleeping
in my head and there she is!