332/265

you see him walking
down market street
toward the embarcadero
green bomber jacket
orange guts flashing
doc martins corduroy pants.
out grown bleached blond hair
scrawny arms tattood with birds
charcoal eyebrows drawn
with rage and indignation.
off the muni from the height
headed to a bus boy shift
at a shitty corporate restaurant  
a portable cd player blasts
ritual de lo habitual and maybe yield.
you see him shelping bins
nacho cheese smeared dishes
and half drunk cokes, dodging
food runners and the incessant
soundtrack drilling holes in his skull.
after midnight, shift over, he follows
the wait staff to that hole in the wall
indian place where they know the bartender
who waters them with free drinks
tiffany tells him he’s cute- too bad she’s
not into guys. the room is spinning
at four am. you don’t see him getting home
due to the messy fog of memory.
he was there. young. alive.
an innocent feeble punk. waking up
at noon, grabbing sustenance at the salad place
below his apartment. time on the porch
sun soaked skin getting ready for another shift.

150/365

you wanted this one to be
pretty and gentle,
and it’s those
kinds of memories
you were harvesting
as you scooped the litter box
and emptied the trash-
balls of feline urine,
tiny turds,
and soggy onions.

the carousel slide projector
of the past doesn’t work properly
without regular use:
the rotary tray
gets jammed,
the fan overheats,
the images fade.

that night in the ocean
in mozambique,
poached with alcohol,
phosphorescence in the waves,
a star smeared sky.
you were all there,
individual participants
erased with time,

that dawn on the bridge
in angel’s camp,
the stench of the campfire
clinging to your reckless hair,
every color of the sunup
palette in use,
a rope around your ankles
your heart in your throat.

that random tuesday morning
you slept in late
skipping class
to wake up to the rolling fog
devouring mount sutro
and parnassus
like a ravenous serpent
until it arrives at you
sitting in its gapping maw.

you wanted this one to be
pretty and gentle?
all it takes is the time and effort
to plug in the carousel
and blow the dust
from the slides.