the apartment that I rent was on the second floor
on a hidden alley, somewhere in the center of Athens,
it was old, crooked, and chaotic,
the kind of place where you could
read Bukowski, listen to Tom Waits,
and nod your head.
and through the room's window, you could see
the dancefloor of a tango bar,
and couples would dance,
all night long, to romantic melodies
and beneath that bar, there was a door,
with a dim red light upon it
men would occasionally pop inĀ Ā
while casting their eyes warily around
you could hear constant noises
coming from the corridors and the walls.
and the neighbors, they were faceless, absent,
and the buskers would play the blues,
and the policemen would sit down the corner
light up their cigarettes and laugh,
and the crowds would walk down that alley and mumble
and you would sit there,
deep in the night,
and you would find peace,
in this disharmony,
eventually becoming, a part of it
