To invest in the inevitable.
Plunk the sentences out with
giraffish awkwardness (a
phrase stolen from William
Carlos Williams)...
not quite via George Stanley
in Vancouver: A Poem,
which I’m reading as I
get off the ship; realizing there are
many ways to delay the inevitable.
To prolong the inevitable.
The brain a snarl of death scenarios
until the Xanax fogs it up for the
puddle-jump from LAX to SFO.
We’re talking simultaneous reading
to stave off (to enhance) the
San Francisco fog.
Walking Otto halfway to work,
stopping by Starbucks for a
triple veinte latté.
What this city means to me
on a day when I don’t have to
“work” – the city –
the incessant noises of SOMA construction –
a newly forming cityscape huddled against
the west end of the Bay Bridge –
bouncing off the buildings of the
Financial District,
off the Tenderloin rooftops
and into my very own living room.
Back home with the intensity of presence
as overwhelming as this desire for
another turn of the page.
