Good morning from the promenade level
of the walkway between Embarcadero 3 and 4.
Sun’s up.
Coffee in Oregon
cup, green and clayey. Some fog is rolling.
Something being pounded into the earth
nearby.
It’s the first day of summer. An umbrella
next to the cupboard. Water pills.
Not much to do, but I’m sure I’ll be
a bruiser. Could mull over poems,
my whole story.
Couldn’t sleep last night between 1 and 4-something.
After a nightmare where all I remember was
an apartment full of insane people
and I lived there.
And everyone carried a gun. I had a shotgun for a while.
I’m reading the new edition. Thinking about
butterscotch. You’ll know what I mean.
This drilling is giving me a headache.
I danced too much. We walked around.
I kept having to hold somebody up.
Those pictures on level 7. I would make even more of them.
It is cold and clear.
I guess only I know what that means.
