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Head nod swinging Bouncing to shoe heel Beat-keeping tap-downs On cold-cut stone.

Giant of the urban edge, Redwood tower fortified And flanking the crosswalk You stand corralled and cordoned off By short-fenced lining.

Footstep stops stepping foot On the pavement square, Ripflows outward where Corner meets root, Upward Where skyglass shakes, Thinly sunlit and beautiful.

Run quickly from the wasteland woods When clouds darken to rain.

I dropped wisely Into the scaffolding - slats Where my mental lap Shivered into position.

Let me float.

I’ve been to the edge Where you claim deliverance Clutched your forearms In a gripping wave.

When you are told you have nothing to say You listen And you do so with a pencil You cram voices Into your pockets, Mark tones onto your pages Even the faint ones Exchange them for cash After a bit of transcription.

Reclaim me!

Lights spillover in tree branch canyon fashion

I stress to stress for you How linguilicisms Create careful comforts Out of base determinations.

Reclamation is a passionless drum That beats from the west.

Smooth minted coins!

Identify these Channeled youth As the base Of a bastardized movement.

Nada pasa nunca En la calle Hay que sentarse y esperar Los viejitos no dicen casi nada A veces le pagan treinta O cuarenta El hombre con la voz De piedra pulverizada Se congregan por la noche A beber, a sonreír Y mirar hasta el fondo De la calle.

Brother Thelonius Part time friend, full time friar And patron saint of Bottled Bebop.™ You give my frigid night A needed warmth, Bubbled in a brooding brew: Imbibe it Best absorbed on the sidewalk Lifeline, sweet record Slow-spinning inside.

Sunspots bruise my inner eyelids Squinting shut Stop-motion Doppler scans.

Honeycombs are proxies For offset rows Of slanted circles..

Re-appear with me In bountiful flashbacks We married young, my love.

Daylight moves its death Into three tunnels.

When you stop at each stop, You see less.

Minimalist and patient, Open and vacant, Each meeting is a product unto itself A proper Experience With proper Engagement.

Slow-volt spine Vertebrae measured in mileage.

Give me your tongue, Scrolling from your mouth.

We sat on the trespass side Of the chain-link fence.

Filthy fowl on the fringe.

He sat there still, Like a flesh and bone Thinker - Head drooped a little drowsier, Wrist pushed up Against the ear, Thin needle hanging Deep From a forearm vein.

Strange to think How these trains have wheels That never leave Their grooves.

Haphazard nesting Keeps the wheels turning.

— Creation is an ongoing process with   Tender tendrils farther reaching — Definitions are only as exact as your   Computer fails to understand — Customer-facing, machine-facing   Worldwide-blindness-making — There are notes in this view   That cannot be…

People march here Far before their orders are ready.

To be yarn-strung Together Looped through our sleeves With small hooks and wires.

Anger and all that vacates with it.

Exhaustion shuts eyelids Slower than shame.

Time can be cheated.

Roll with it The details can’t Be proven - Regardless of how You think Or why you think.

Stonebare cathedral Carried a chorus Borne Of magnificent depth.

Many layers below, Cables orchestrated our Electric feast Smooth-sounded backing on the beat Socialite scrolling, Flameless evenings Mothed in a MOMA glow.

The ocean is as peaceful As the wind that drives it And sand is as fine As the ocean grinds it

The ocean is a sculptor With a blue-green fade And a sandstone habit.

Enormous stone tomb Punched into the mountainside Clean cut cavern With triangular shadows

Do you know How to know When the soil shifts?

A blanket mutes Parts of the hillside Patterned in dark Green spades, Sprinkled with purple Morning-glory blooms.

At a distance, The city's forest speaks Refuge Near its edge, The illusion breaks into boulevards, Sidewalks winding toward some middle.

Angled walls were made To mitigate This hilltop curve, To retain a Modern language.

We’ve wrestled hunger, Knotting itself in our empty mouths, We've begged hard with thirst Flaking our bloody lips.

“Literature can answer the prayers of politics and paint its future threats.”

I left the summer in Texas

Why does everyone look So damn the same?

I stared, caught in a window.