Eternity is a very long time 
or a very short time
								        
Perched on
these wide steps between 
a stone bear
& bull on
    this common winter lunchtime 

Below
me men
& women swimming up 
    Sutter Street 

These ones will die
so their spawn had better take 

Lather rinse repeat

I am joined here by six 
or seven others… cormorants drying our wings before 
setting out over 
the sea stretching before
us each

A short-cropped gray-haired citizen bends over
the Sporting Green like a pathologist deducing what led to
the swoon this June that killed the Giant’s chances

Below me is a man 
or the facsimile of 
one lying athwart 
a step his feet long ago having forgotten what the inside of
a pair of shoes feel like
but whose mad mats of 
hair offer a pillow for
his head

& so on

In
this moment I would like to believe in
many things including how well the cold sun shines off 
my white shirt
& my tightly-tied shoes 
 & my clean-shaven face

Q: Who am I kidding? 
A:  ________________.

Two years back now 
& I still wonder which country is overseas

Nothing is as it should be 

I can hardly breathe 
because of too much oxygen in
the air
or nitrogen 
or something else 

Nothing feels right nothing looks right nothing sounds right

It’s all been switched around

Mirrors hang backwards forcing me read my face right to 
left

Clean sheets are sandpaper against 
my skin 
so I sleep 
w/out 

Those 2:00 am vigils stretch ‘til
dawn 
as I listen for 
movements of 
any soul enemy
or friend 										

But then the pathologist looks up from
his newspaper 
& swivels his head 
    as do all the other guys
 & so on even the drifter
     which could only mean one thing 
     so I monkey the men 
& my eyes fill
    w/a billowy blue skirt 
 & olive-skin legs  
& a fury of 
    red hair

A woman walking westward   t  r  a  v  e  l  l  i  n  g      s  l  o  w      m   o   t   i   o   n 
though not like on
TV 
but deliberate motion instead

Fluid graceful 
& strong all shoulders 	
 & hips propelling her body 						         	forward    
     even as she sustains herself in 
     place in 
     time in
     mind each movement telegraphing her intent to 
     the earth
     so the planet may shift 
& so benefit from 
    the blessings of 
	                     each 
	            fall 
		         of
	         each 
		         foot
		                  
There’s also this blond @
her side a woman 
w/the kind of 
looks that were she to walk into 
a bar alone she’d just cold-stop all talk on 
the spot 
but today hers is a mere rivulet of 
prettiness swept away by
the flood of 
beauty flowing from
the woman in 
blue

I start moving from 
my position
& when I reach street level 
     her eyes lock onto
     mine 
 & mine to 
     hers 

It’s this instantaneous thing electric + mutual + raw 

Then the blond says something that makes her laugh

She laughs
& laughs 
 & laughs
& as she laughs she folds @
    the waist then upright like a fountain of
    water then she folds again
    as the mirthful hem of 
    her skirt bounces @
    her knees
  & her breasts sway under 
      the fall of 
      the fabric of 
      her blouse 

She laughs like today is the only day 

She passes on by
as I watch her backside retreat like a beacon inviting 
& denying me an ember growing small 
 & cold. 
  

Eternity is either a very long time or a very short time

Ing

What a popsicle-sucking fan-waving shade-hogging hog-hauling arse-ogling tongue-parching donkey-stopping feet-perspirating cheese-racing Sata/n-sitting fig-gnawing grape-seed-sucking cigar-chomping chad-hanging milk-carton-reading iceberg-melting answer-machining little-girl-fondling nail-biting carpet-bombing Hitler-longing cuck-olding Lord’s-name-in-vane-taking totally-tripping brown-nosing pencil-nibbling knee-jerking water-wasting loose-tooth-wiggling whore-whispering autoerotic-asphyxiating chain-smoking blister-peeling chin-chinning social-networking mother-stabbing father-fearing tumor-palpating granma-fleecing gas-lighting Berlin-lifting baby-dangling water-boarding pressure-cooking turkey-plucking love-handle-grabbing cleavage-leering hem-pulling leaf-blowing pig-sticking nipple-twisting beluga-bludgeoning harp seal-strumming level-heading nasal-excavating global-weirding needle-pointing nit-picking  likker-slurping tea-partying craptastic-poetry-generating slow-dancing three-times-heel-tapping dog-snatching cat-scratching snatch-dogging hardly loafing time.  


Your last lost love’s eyes

I spot San Diego wedged into
the lower left-hand corner like a secret
w/the remaining nation fanning north 
& east 

I am told my main problem is never remembering clichés 
& the sea is always the color of 
    your last lost love’s eyes 

That’s why I occupy these dunes above 
the beach 
as the sun above bakes my back each morning 
& the crown of 
    my head by 
    noon before 
    finally blinding me @
    the blue end of 
    day 

I spend the final afternoon peeling layers away to nothing 
but desire for 
the astringent sea

I sprint across
the beach 
& dive into
    the face of 
    a towering wave
 & rise to  					 
     the surface beyond 		 
     the breakers where an otter bobs in	          	           
     a hidden kelp forest                    the	  		    	 	 
				    to        crest       
I join in 		          up	            then
as each new swell draws us			       down                          
	           	            	             	       			    the	 
After an hour						          other			 
it gets cold 							       side            		     
so I ride the surf into
shore bathing in 
forces beyond 
ken 
 & control 

Sand up
my nose 

Water in
my moth 

Astonished 
& alive 

The final colors dribble down 
the sky
covering for 
the night 
that steals light from 
the undone day 

A promise never made 

I shake off the sea 
& cross the beach to 
    a pier where I pass a burly black man who wears snow gear
    in summer 
 & plays space music on 
     his synthesizer 
     w/a sign that says Jesus Is A Fisher of  
     Men 
 & there’s also this Vietnamese guy casting 
& casting his bait upon 
    the waters
 & a pair of 
     lovers loving one another against 
     the wooden railing
     w/half-empty soda cans dangling from 
     their still-free hands

The further out I go the fewer people I meet 
until it’s just me 
& the slivered silver moon hanging like an open palm just beyond 	         my reach

Jesus had it easy he wasn’t fishing for 
the moon.


Your last lost love's eyes

I live on a redwood creek in the middle of Oakland that leads to the Bay and feeds the sea. 


Foretimes