The city is my lover, as well as its men
drunks gather in raindrops without disposition
espresso dribbles collect in
cracks on dry lips that
eulogize the past and all the future’s what ifs with
Four Roses and Prosecco sass to
balance the quiet numbness with
avoidant intellect
We’re dopamine chasers of the Holy Triangle
building relationships through words and
dark corners
the neurotic obsession with mental ascendance and
physical descendance, with every sip
we’re farther toward the pavement but
The city, she holds me
as well as her men
on the corner of Grant and Green
tired from 5am cerebral neurosis
seeking Holy Triangle balance
Fernet, McAllan
discount at Specs for
the scotch that never should have touched my lips
drunks dance in raindrops without disposition
carry their heavy corpses through
atmospheric rivers of the heart
Between sheets that aren’t my own
Stockton, Columbus
painted houses that match his outfits
wearing his sunglasses that
do less to block the sun and
more to make me feel close to him
reflect his vetiver scent against
her pretty buildings and
back into my irises directly but
I don’t mind
I’ve been enjoying mild dissociation lately
Jazz radio cracks the first sign of morning that
spills through the skylight
he likes being seen with me
the artists
the hippies
the beats
the young ones desperately trying to be unique
you journalist, don’t pigeon hole me!
Espresso cup shakes on plate in
tale telling hands
your poems are too obvious, you journalist
let the poem
stand
on
its
own!
Catch me a fish, old sailor man that
I’ve yet to meet
feed my fancy for draining the gene pool of
North Beach
leave me be when I want to be
left to be
scoff at poems that are
too personal
too political
not nebulous enough
laugh in your raindrops
humor yourself communist when you
benefit from capitalism
it’s hard to make good on
the politics of the heart in America
I’m exhausted
So call me your lover, and I’ll call you mine
forget about the bitterness of spattering intellect
let the city carry us through
murdered best friends
failed revolutions
fentanyl overdoses
let’s drain the gene pool of North Beach together!
And then move on to
the Embarcadero!
Get ourselves a fisherman lover and
slurp overpriced oysters in sideways dives with
burnout suit and tie waiters
heavy with bread bowl lethargy
the journalist
you journalist
you over explain
then drown your mind in quiet numbness and
comedic intellect to cover up the pain
but ‘don’t worry baby’
as he kisses my cheek
the city loves you
as well as its men
but do you really love them?