Vegas

tore back

3:37 p.m.

24 hours of a

drunken dream

no shore

no horizon

but in full color

money

whores of every kind

instincts ignored yet tested

booze, food, booze, food

nap, booze, food, walking

carpets lit by losers in lights

struck by the visuals

the bare thought of

what if

-the dream that has kept

this town alive

I watch the asses in tight

skirts whisk past me

arms locked in the elbows

of cheesy men

hair product

biceps

shiny pants

the people flow through

the floors with such energy

past the old,

beaten down to

coins and leather

faces

feeding the machines

I walk the carpet drunk

biting down on

an overpriced cigar

and I have

to laugh

through the stupor

of us all.