The wind has blown all night
and turned the world to ice.
Puke on the street in front of Doodle's
Tavern; blood on the walls.


All hope is in Heaven, and with the newly dead.
The red sky spreads like a bruise.


Two frozen whores
push their tired and tattooed bodies
through the steel plated
mouth of morning. Fragile
and distant, the sun rises.
It does not have a chance today.

- David Childers