Friday, June 7, 2024
san francisco poem
theres still a place
in the San francisco bay
for poets,
skateboarders, & miscreants
child actors grown up with
addictions & missing teeth;
the fog rolling in
with all its mystique
LANDS END
is where I sleep
wake up with a dream
and theres something endearing
about the harsh chinese business
man
thats weary of me
Nothing is
what it was
ghosts linger around
as rent goes up
I sit where the roads end
at least as I positioned them
In my head,
and a CHAOTIC CALMNESS
Descends
if I stayed here forever
I would be dead///
(enchante cafe - geary st - 5/13/24)
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