Raindrop the word Mylius
Less the angel drunken harlot
Queen of the Arbolada street gang
& the Temple clan, Ken Whiteley fans, that was Juan, or Juanito
whatever happened to the son of Mary &
Joseph. Quiet artist. Catoonist.
Sailor.
Friend.
She was the first to deride me
In a crowded San Francisco night
Where the subway opened up into the Castro District
So long ago, and ages since
We went the wrong way through a BART turnstile.
Only to face the morning
Come down.
A Second Mark Comings. A Range of Experiences. Ayatolla John, and Playing in the Band.
In the Stands. The Greek Theatre. Danny Vanni driving mindless but soul-filled through twisting streets of campus; the dead stirring echos of dark star
& bright diamond mornings.
dripping bible verses & phillipino-glazed starry eyed dreaming.
I got a handful of this.
Christian Brodale, brother of Shelly,
& Kerstin Hege, Marshall, & Telegraph drunk revelries with the Bubble Lady, poet laureate.
of the freaktown street, weird love avenue... the long walks past gardens
& Ashby, and black churches
Through the Sather Gates, past the drum circles, past Ginsberg, in the Quad. The Tower.
Small chic espresso spots before Starbucks was even a notion.
An Orange Julius selling Newcastle Burgers, stamp-sized chomps.
The old high school aquaintence, Andrea John
Joking as it were, bringing me home speechless, and catatonic,
Wondering if she might employ a nearby grocery basket
As a means of sending me on my way.
Whistling and we can't remember the words to
My Sister's Moonlight Eyes ....
