The brain—soft
bag—collapses on itself
—Etel Adnan
watching a hummingbird
take to the droopy hearts
of the Castro on a
weekday afternoon
far from femininity
(the ocean seemingly
forever away), massive prows
jut over Market Street
intimidating hopscotch
the overshadowing of
half a dozen or so
brand new buildings—
condominiums (etc.)
triangular suited men
duck stealthily in & out
of the darkness
all futurissimo!
each checking his
watch as he emerges
into the light
then swooping
back out presto
leaving nothing
but tiny whirlwinds
fluttering up and
above—swirling
impressions—
echoing rictuses
of a hundred
or so pursed lips
