mmmmcccxcvii

I begin in blue knowing what’s cool
                          —John Wieners

because I’ve been down

Fillmore enveloped by the

bruise-colored fog and I

know the blues more than

just personally. the sun up

there somewhere trying to

burn it all up into global war

ming. my hot heart sieving

ice, I’ve been slumped over

with Miles for miles, wake up

from a dream not knowing

whether it’s a dream or if it’s

real in which we’re caught at

the crux of two behemoths,

monster California blazes 

blown up like nuclear mushrooms 

by the swift-twisting winds, the 

dead of summer.  maybe it was 

just a dream. it was probably

a dream. now, shivering, having

lost my Miles, who would’ve 

ever thought?  frozen to the 

bone in San Francisco.