The rust comes through, shows through, eats through.
To emphasize the hole in your shoe.
A super model sings the blues.
We lament the passing of old news.

New condos left vacant.
Old values forsaken.
A meal never taken.
A transition in the making.

Tell us about ourselves.
Show us our vulnerable under belly.
Take us to the streets so smelly.
And the up town deli.

The artist does not know his own art.
No one knows the course we will chart.
Or where the creeping rust may start.
Or where the bridge will fall apart.