Neon signs shine in their glitter-freak eyes,
Big broad garnished
in high expectations,hopes,and needs
of a growthless generation
xenon-lust flourescent on their skin
Breathing in the exhaust fumes
of an exhausted people
The Sun Is Artificial Here.
but they soak it up
like smoke stifling their lungs-
they bathe in it like
fire devouring every trace of gasoline
Begging the poison to seep
deep into their pores,
disintegrating their nerves,
washing their bitter bones-
The pretty girls on the corner,
dressed up all nice,
in their nighttime, night-life,
harsh light,harsh life finery.
The hopes are artificial here.