It's after hours
in the House of Cards,
bar bell tolling
from inside its depths,
the dark streets of Hades
pierced
with manholes
prepared
at the final breath
of each causally clustered heap
of organs and dreams,
whimpering pitifully,
uselessly clawing
at Gene McDaniel's Tower
of Strength
on the backdrop
of gleefully dancing mosquitos
in the cold backlight
of God's grin