Thursday, March 3, 2016

San Francisco

It’s a sad
truth, how appreciation
springs from lack.
Black night’s agonies
trickle from my fingers
in stoic philosophies—
I die a thousand deaths
in my mind.

I am I, saddest
motherfucking truth
there is. The fog
lifts and I sit
on wooden steps
—Espresso and an Export
‘A’—and live again.

Do we all throw
away lives so easily,
so thoroughly? Lee
And Debra, Lee and Debra.
Debra and Lee. Eurydice,
Eurydice, Eurydice.

San Francisco

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