up at the top of the hill sitting at this desk
outside inside. The birds in me deal with the DMV
they like that.
(Don’t capitalize, italicize!)
I am sitting here.
The Nob Hill crones (now don’t be harsh) walk their dogs.
I like the dogs and the crones they aren’t really crones.
Love of crones.
He is markedly flying out, flying into me.
We make a delusional excursion. I forward this along
in hopes my experiences watching porn writing poems
at Yosemite View Lodge in El Portal. I’m so forward
reading this poem and writing one at the same time
with the window open to silence. I got my registration
before the flick. I thought I saw him. But it wasn’t him.
She has some sort of infection that hasn’t been
ascertained. I’m not talking about you. Cheers.
