The whore factory

The city crackles like a mirror on fire
Skewering daylight out its shutters
For out it’s dark clutter
Prostitute stemmed insects
Strutting under mosquito clogged lights

Outside the sky scaffolds
Over the sleepy leafy
Suburban lampshade trees
Frightening away the flesh clad whores
Who undressed under their canopies

Inside is dripping as busts are ripping open
With a fix on flesh in a mix of sweat
The prostitutes flex as the punters undress
Into a tangle of knickers and animal sex

Graffiti walls fall
Pounding on skeleton bodies
The whores flaking up
Into stains of sperm and make-up

As the sun sinks into the subway
To sleep homeless for the night
Casinos glitter and players shiver
As Ox faced mafia bosses
Turn the tables trading money for livers

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