My quaint courtyard apartment in the heart
of Hollywood overlooks Capitol Records,
your old label -- you and countless others.
The building still stands as a famous,
especially kitschy, example
of roadside vernacular architecture,
so trendy in the 1960’s.
From my balcony, I marvel
at the irony of a turntable
towering thirteen stories
into the hazy, starless sky,
where tunes, once played,