Panama hats.

There’s a city they buried Under a ton Panama hats 

during the rum And brandy strike 

Where you go in high and come out low 

Are you the kind of girl whom likes

To roll under comets at night.


What would one call a castle in this part

Of town and would you mind if I told You 

That you reminded me of those Art Deco girls.


If I was to ask would you like the last dance

Through the leafs as I’m heading for home. 

Recoiling the archive the last chiffon honey

saut de chat by with perfumed ease.