Gold You Do Not Have

How passed the night for you?

Alone but surrounded by those

Damaged, lost trapped souls

With their hard-luck sagas,

Their hard-look stares,

Peeling-paper rooms

Reached by gin-steadied stairs.

Where you pay for desperate promises,

Offering guilt and gold you do not have;

Desperate for forbidden-passion positons:

Cold, old meat arranged

In yesterday-sweat ‘n’ piss sheets.