If on a cool misty night
you come across that
rotted wooden door

while out strolling
the crosswalks,
don't think- to

knock it twice-
and do-not-think-it,
to walk on by.


The flickering light
with faded blue

speaks out like
a bulb to a moth-
romancing you.

Stepping up-
step-one-up,
two to the door.


one hand winding-
up for a strike-

the other reluctant,
pulling you back-
in-to the night.


But before you
felt the doors

outer shell,
it opened before
your feet and the

ground which you felt.
So you stepped on in
onto the damp stone floor,

with the colors
of the room spinning,
you had to ask for more.


Up came
The pea@@#! woman

pouring absinthe
in your glass,
She told you the stories

of her lost pin-up past,
and in that instance
you saw the maze

of her figure in glass,
you knew this is where
you would stay the night

to get Your beauty rest.