She dances in the dark spots Between the street lights, like A patient drunkenly twitching Before an operation,
There is but a lick of anxiety In her performance, deprived Is she by her cruel audience, but To their defence They are merely the empty foliage That sit on each side of the city lane, Like shadowed guards Who gleefully imprison her in chains,
Where will she go After the moon retires and The trees offer her the key ?
Perhaps, she will follow the stray cat Down the dimly painted alley, will She give in to the ***** feline, who Beckons her with a fickle whine And who stares obtusely With such precise baby-doll eyes,
Or will she simply sink Into the leaf smothered ground, Face anchored and stitched To the pavement, her beauty Famished and her heart envious Of the four-pawed beast Who now dances on her corpse.