"It's about words, and words are all I have…"



Digging in the dirt   Today so much

mud and water   Dirt floats   & Noah

might even have trouble  reclaiming

his projections   Dealing with his shit


This day is not for hope-squelched

citydwellers   You must have grit to

get through it   Like the man on the

corner waiting for the bus


A Bukowski dead-ringer   Face scarred

& misshapen   eyes sunken ships   Almost

feral   He will likely either:  murder the bus

driver  or jump into my car   & beat some

sense into me?


For not renting the apartment in San Francisco   20 yrs.ago


When I was plump with possibility & organic

granola   California  has a way of getting under

the skin  & in my 57th year  I can still smell the

fear  lessness   encountered there


Big Sur   Henry Miller long dead   & Liz Smart’s

ghost still weeping  by Grand Central Station

My thoughts perpetually creeping   to Divisadero St.


let me in




Winter  2014

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