t h e

c i t y

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i fall in the bus on the way to a seat &

have to ride with embarrassment for several blocks ..

soon though that pasts as i near the avenues

and the golden park

■

so this time on the bus to again the park

and inside a wet cloud i step off at filbert street

in place of bay street but it is not such a mistake,

merely a longer walk – then now there is a woman

rising from inside the sidewalk with the indigent hands

and eyes of violent hue who encourages my offer of a dollar

■

across the bay – i do not know so much about berkeley,

i go there mostly to get lost

■

and it is because i allow my thoughts to catch up with me

while i stand underground wait waiting for a train

that will cause me to miss that train

■

there is a woman of granite & cypress on the russian hill

faltering from some circular intoxication

■

on those few rare random barely yet mornings

of little fog .. the main artery of market street

can become shifting sheets of lucidities

■

down around the north beach district

there are so many eating cafes that the air

is too sweetly solid for walking

■

i am fifth & howard, when i finally find a parking space

and begin to walk my way past the electric buses

the electric streets & at third & howard, it sees me

this future building devoted to the past .. this building

that draws me in in & then inside i become fluid

within the seams of its matisse(s) in this monument

such a monument to the most radiant of human expressions

but + i know i will soon be released again to the motion

of howard street & i know i know that i will be at

some traffic light that will say go, though i can only stop

■

near a corner of sacramento & stockton this afternoon

an incarnation of krishna hails a cab with a blue hand perfect

■

is it the kindness in that stranger’ eyes that makes me linger

at a lunch counter in chinatown on a yellow afternoon?

■

third day overcast .. this is the regulation weather san francisco ..

walking north in lombard street, notice that crowd that crowd

surrounding those men, men of music, who are offering

their beat sounds to the sneering hazes

■

take the ferry from oakland to the city .. on way – 75 minutes

+ $4.00 .. but you forget the time & the cost when at once

you begin to mimic the bay with that part of you

within you that resembles green/blue wavering

■

there is a man black with own chair sitting neat

in the middle somewhere of the north south vein

of east 14th street in oakland .. a man accepting nothing

and giving his most leaping smiles.

■

how the spring birdies do quiver in the trees

in the mission district & it is only when you drift by –

that by the tens & dozens, they will chirp to the sidewalk

and soon back again to the trees again,

should you come by again

■

so then there is woman who is like night & light

who is standing in the center somehow of sutter street

between alternating currents of cars that are creating

rivers of breeze that ruffle her glass dress

■

now the thing is .. anytime any year off of that first exit

just over the bridge in marin county, at that inclined park

and facing the restless east, the city is shrouded

with ever & ever within its graces

■

here in the castro, just over there – that parking lot

seems as a parking lot except for the bent hoop

at one end & except for those shiny boys,

who make handsome as they chase a round ball

an orange ball

■

thru the recesses of the bay bridge subwaying

from oakland to the city .. it is the person sitting

behind me, a someone whom i will never meet ..

it is that person, someone who owns a voice

that i could fall in love with

■

this golden gate bridge, two miles of tristful beaux ..

so some guy there with an old saxophone, thinks he is

sonny rollins & so some guy, some other guy with

bruised feathers, thinks he is a swan

■

from coit tower on telegraph hill somehow for some lonely time ..

i am reflective of what is most elusive in the city

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CHECK THIS OUT >>> an audio reading of a few poems: