As the old man gazed over the balcony, 

the rusted city, molested streets that beat the crowd. 

He smelled rotten old skin, breathe  tampered with Scotch. 

He tried to dream of a pop song…rolling drums…flickering guitars. 

His parades of ladies with short skirts and revolutionized smile…showing teeths, 

showing too much of a heart, too much of a wet wrinkly skins. 

He was furiously engaged to this love…

Beyond those hysterical paranoia, he tried…tried the hell out of this oracular place. 

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