red-flecked black of fog at dusk in Embarcadero
discolored human hills of San Francisco.
like sleeping serpent's snoring flame matter,
the exhaust of a Greyhound trailing blind, scattered
like an opium den's turbulent mind in clouds at noon.
obsolete moonlight of the electrical city,
fire captains faked out at Coit Tower,
in burnt mattress street smells.
sweaty men's jackhammers.
smashing yellow brick walkways.
crumbled dust mixing with the evening air,
sand blasted morning yawning tear ducts,
calm warm breath of eyes declined and rolling,
awake to Muir forest in green streams and dewy mushrooms,
as a park ranger approaches to see our permit.
bounding mass of Tamalpias starlight from the void,
feeding the progress of Venus and Earth
unusual Kodak transmission of Sausilito turbine engines.
then focus on scraped tongue freeze-dried downtown,
in white neon sorting computers,
sucking the windy smoke away from its stratosphere,
stirring the excess swirling colors around The Rock
squished between transparent culture slides
and wrapped in Christmas silver foil.
San Francisco
Dec. 11, 1978
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