CEMETERIES OF SAN FRANCISCO
the freeway sounds like a wave
suspended above me on the wings of a bridge
i cannot fathom. i’m fumbling w/a zipper
instead of taking a picture & she’s in a loft
down the alley. poetry is bravery, documentary.
the fashion model’s late & i’m not waiting
for her at all… those ghosts are in the ground.
we have san francisco, dear, conquered in concrete
to keep all the dead sailors down.
