rest house road

there are all kinds of love

available in the cool summer wind,

carrying the scents of the night crowd

in this drunken dusty alley.

'tis here that poets wait

for the stiffness of a hit, and the young

and broke dream the cheapness of liquor.

'tis here that Ms.Propreity takes a back seat

to Mr.Passion, driving the soul

truckin' down the sordid hours

as the city drags to its close.

'tis here that i wish to waste my every summer night's dream.