Tropical night

Its a tropical night in the house of memory,
A moon dripping sweat on anxious clouds,
Streets exhale and perspire, pink, dark, liquid desires run the drains, with a shivering puppy
A naked hand, a clasp of wire, a drizzle of steam from clammy beds, and the cloying revulsion of wasted flesh and absent souls, gone like the black night breeze disappearing among the leaves,
The Heat licks at old soiled pictures, their color peeling, the faces a blur of smoke and mirror,
The dead begin to stink outside, and the earth is heavy and thick on the floor,
The army of roots spreads on the blanched walls, with wrinkled poster
The broken bulbs and tired skulls clink,
The tropical night is deep in its song of beautiful misery,
The desolation is only the beginning, and the sickness is a long, vampiric mating dance,
The dance of vultures and wolves in the yellow pool of the moon,
The tropical night is a strange, fleshy,corpuscular, callow lover, bathed in lurid red, its slobbering lips all over my flesh.
I smell its rich, dark, fresh, gagging bile.

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