San Francisco

Perspective! –
all the shapes
it makes you take –

unconscious
perturbations quake,
subvert your ardent arguments:

a foot grows large, or tiny –
eyes go foggy, whiny, winking
blue and pink – each blink

another sabotage:
the point, the point –
oh, what’s the point?

Its joints crack badly,
sadly, gladly, madly –
wan inanities of rhyme

again, profanities
of time, perennial
lugubrious

protuberances
all proclaiming lust
for nothing much

beyond a touch
of not-quite-venerable,
none-too-memorable

sin. I’ve
just come in a spin
from San Francisco

and I don’t know
where I’ve
been.



.