Poor Old Mr. Wilson

tonight is a parody
unseen
a vicious knife to the iris
a vindictive knave at your hotel door
she walked in
she threw you a caution
in a sickening attempt
to keep all her teeth,
all her cartilage
you walked out,
a real face
real, violent hands
in an imaginary world

regrets are for the morrow
tonight we drink on the time we borrow