On Friday Night

Drunk, hungry eyes
Walking on the alleyways
Monstrous mouths,
devouring testy meat

The lights are foggy mirrors
of those pretty girls.
The stroke of their hair and legs
A proud walking man to...

Crawling tired legs,
like worms on cold mud
Laments of an intoxicated child,
that cannot sleep.

Reddish flames behind frames,
returning from laughter of horror
Eggs shells, boiling bowls of yolk,
in the people heads.

poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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