The money of dogs

Kick’d in wire mesh on a barn red 
alley screen door,
hang’n there like some kind’a 
vegetable can lid
dogs, they go in and out carry’n 
chalk-white powder fall’n off 
somewhere on a 
kids play’n five square with it
’till dusk.
Dark street winds bend’n the 
twist’n its arm into 
asphalt and
curbed tire marks
pedestrians walk with a walk 
in music,
railway cross’n arm on a street 
a ‘metronome.’
Razor sharp suit under a dimly 
lit city,
kiss’n the tip of 
her tongue,
blood boil’n underneath, she
his bottom lip with hers, fresh 
coat of lust
their emotions moving in
silent count,
long legs in black nylon wrap 
his waist,
‘grope des sex.’
A full moon veils itself like an
unwanted stranger,
except for a 
glimmer of light, the
night grows cold
a piano converted store front on
the corner of 
nobody, save one, now travels 
the length
of  ivories, doesn’t want to
‘get the air back’
much as railroad ties look for
a train,
he looks for the music.
Dull, dirty windows framed into
the listless
a moonbeam rubs out circles in
glass and 
forgotten whispers
he with hat and a tired suit, twirl’n
his walk’n stick, 
wealthy dogs come run’n on
deserted noise,
com’in to see him
coins are dropped into 1895 and
ragged rhythm
a vagrant crowd stops to listen, 
stares inside,
applaud. applaud.
Copyright © 04/09/2014 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®