Medusa woke up beside ******
in the unkempt bed in the big messy loft
overlooking      Bleeker & Mott:
      poets and models going in and out all night;
the cowboy passed out drunk
      w/ his boots on per usual,
and as ever,    she tugged them off his wide feet;
pressing her          small  smelly sole right in his face
crushing his nose &  filling his nostrils
w/ her musty foot odor                as she
violently yanked   one boot
         off and then the other,
releasing    the funky aroma of his own
      sweaty man peds;
he finally got upright.
"What goes on, here?" he grunted.
"The party's over," she said, "back to work."
"What was I doing?"
"Painting," she said.
"What stinks?"
"We do."