Are you with me on this people?
The man with the woman head
Polynesian wallpaper made the face stand out,
A mixture of oriental and early vaudeville jazz poofter,
Forming a hard, beetle-like triangular chin much like a praying mantis.
Smoky razor-cut, low on the ear neck profile.
The face the color of a nicotine-stained hand.
Dark circles collected under the wrinkled, folded eyes,
Map-like from too much turquoise eyepaint.
He showed his old tongue through ill-fitting wooden teeth,
Stained from too much opium, chipped from the years.
The feet, brown wrinkles above straw loafers.
A piece of cocoanut in a pink seashell caught the tongue
And knotted into thin white strings.
Charcoal grey eisenhower jacket zipped into a load(?) of green ascot.
A coil of ashes collected on the white-on-yellow dacs.
Four slender bones with rings and nails
Endured the weight of a hard fast black rubber cigarette holder.
I could just make out ace as he carried the tray and mouthed,
"you cheap son of a bitch"
As a straw fell out of a coke, cartwheeled into the gutter.
So this was a drive-in restaurant in hollywood,
So this was a drive-in restaurant in hollywood,
So this was a drive-in restaurant in hollywood.
