The rock and roll glamour
pop synth dance
hip hop side-steppers
—an electro-generation
risen from the ashes
of the fading
Great Baby Boom.

—ignore the man
with the mysterious tune
with the dim, primal vest
& the toe tapping feet;
—hurry along
not pausing to think
not allowing a moment to be
swept away by the beat.

A colossal structure made
entirely of cheap, lustrous plaster
in the center of it all;
but suited to the ever-changing
whim of crazed masses.

Who's to decide
the direction it spins;
how it sits as it gleams
on a hem, a collar, a sleeve.
as it sweeps & bends
turning the heads of
a lacking population,
setting ever-shifting rules in hurried type
on the smooth bare page
of the new day and age.

But maybe
someone will stop one day
& stake a look down the street
at that magical man,
a brass vehicle of saccharine melodies
steadied by two hands.

&realize that no techno-gadget
can ever take the place of
true heart
& soul.