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.