Lost Neighborhoods

Tripping over pretty girls

tongue-tied and glassy eyed

I go home to dream of bordello fantasies

void of human dignity

wildly shooting

all polluting

through pinball neighborhoods

I go bouncing, searching for that everlasting smile

tranquility slips through fingers

like the finest sands through broken hands

I have a notion that once it was mine

to call my own

in simpler times

before hormonal arcades

and lusty parades

but now I measure my life

in shots from a revolver

that never ceases to run out of ammunition