The Juan de Fuca plate sends shocks down
narrow streets in San Francisco’s
darling Sunday mornings
where some of us exist in
a collective
higher mind consciousness of
total California
oblivion
The Muni’s constant coming and going
she ends at the beach beneath soft
lolly green grass dunes and I wonder if
the ocean feels her too
her forever wheels turning
dropping passengers to
make peace with the ocean and
we praise ourselves for being progressive
for knowing about the world in our lollygagging bubbles
of orange wine and cartons of olives
They say it’s foggy here but
Carl seems to be dissipating
And the Muni turns
she churns my stomach after
Safeway rotisserie chickens do my wallet right but
my spirit wrong
takes me from ocean exhaling salty breath into
sublime presence toward
uncapped fentanyl spikes and
split in half bodies
Great American Music Hall history making
street meat sizzling hot dogs that
probably couldn’t do me better than that Safeway chicken but
God damn do they smell good
This could all disappear with a quake of the
Juan de Fuca plate
just a little earthly shiver on a day that
Carl decides to stay awhile
and that once lolly green grass dune
covered in tsunami sea spray
just as the Richmond nears gentrification
just as the bodies fold farther toward the pavement
the city’s rock stars sing one last song as
muni idles slowly near Haight Street where
hippies and their loyal pup companions
pick one last imaginary scarlet begonia in
Buena Vista Park before
San Francisco’s eternal clock stops
Are we forever?
Will the high last?
Can Carl shroud us in his presence,
suck us up into his wet abyss
SAVE US!
Save our California higher mind presence
keep me in oblivion!
But Juan de Fuca
sends shocks down narrow streets on a
darling San Francisco
Sunday morning until
suddenly
we are nothing