a man stands naked in the window of a tall tall tower 
he glories in the gold and the storm and the wind and the power
the rain runs in rivulets down the panes to the gutter
in the lightning flash you can see his eyes are shuttered

in the streets below the streets into the blanket he huddles deep
he glories in the cardboard and tattered bills and sleep
clutches his sax cradled like a lover in pain
the arthritis peaks and settles and begins to wane


the coin toss lands on the edge of a knife
fate cuts its way into our lives
high or low, healthy or sick
there's a quantum difference between poor and rich