Occupancy Of An Abandoned Whore-House...

I've been looking for work
and have begun to feel
as if finding a decent job
is about as promising an endeavor
as looking for a nice chaste lady
in an abandoned whore-house

Wandering through these ruins
there are haunts and relics that
make it seem as if such decent
and disparate things once existed
-like the words of old men that
speak of how they started-out
-or the framed first-dollar-earned
that remains perched on an office wall
behind some ancient owner's proud desk

These things seem as out of time
as a chastity belt left to rust
within the dust-covered space
of some faded chalk-outline

Now it seems every employee
considers themselves no more
than a prostitute of professionalism
bound by some indentured indecency

And somehow this defiled vacancy
is continually saturated to max-capacity
as vast covens of occupational occupants
steadily empty their hollowed-out shadows
into the abasement of this abominable abyss

In all this horror I wonder of the living
They must be out there somewhere
or hidden behind all this bitter darkness
And they must be waiting & wanting
to get out of these abandoned whore-houses
& to build a more lively place
where they can live, & work,
& do more than just phuck
and get phucked-over