Tuesday, June 21, 2016

San Francisco II

Although it’s all visually familiar
the city only
                        feels like home
In the Tenderloin.

                                    Leavenworth St.’s “got
that home beat,” that
Je ne sais quoi

                        on the edge
of desperation. Transsexual
with a laptop on the sidewalk
purse open: smokes, blankets,
and that smell bathrooms
                                                were built
to neutralize.

                        Sometimes places
are hard to get to because
they’re even harder to get out of.

This lowlife
                                    the camaraderie
                                    of abject survival. After all,

smiles are brighter
                                    your suburban misery,
                                    Mr. Jones—

where it all happens without you
and my head is the only
since all the places it carries around
only bring me home 
to the cool, gray city
                                                of love.

June, 2016
San Francisco

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