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