Saint Compare

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Saint Factory: (new version)

What about
that asthmatic hooker?
She dead yet?
I didn't think she'd
make it
a ghost she
sometimes walks
down the alley
of my mind
her lungs, her
sweet young lungs
now rotten
accordions
bleeding
springs
and punctured
bellows

What about the briefcase man?
with his oily Aquascutum
he must have floated
down
from heaven
in his black Samsonite
full
of vials
and twisted plastic kisses
of the good old
China White

And the Frenchman,
Oh yes, the Frenchman
the cardboard
collector, boiled ham
pink with yesterday's
sweating
buggering that little
gas
sniffer kid
with the empty
black
octane eyes
lifeless
behind
the big Cottonwood
where you can
see for miles
if you want to.