I went thru the turnstyle to the party

In the risqué penthouse that was not

A penthouse, I followed people but maybe

They weren't people, it was ethical

To follow them over the edges of the balloons

Until we found some tapsons to eat, heartily

We indulged & found the right move in relation

To the movements of the lion's mouth, the mouth

Which counted all who entered & left waywardly

Haphazardly the immigrant sphere where

Frozen petals fell behind the red curtain

So slowly they woke me like a knock on door #7

Behind which I'm dreaming

& trying to tango remorselessly