poetry
art in general
such beautiful trivial little amalgamated lies resting precariously
on the surface of truth

and i remember one rainy night
hell outside in the city on a saturday
for a man on the road
north beach is a little hip again
all the lit kids who fell in love with kerouac in a lecture hall
and drove home for thanksgiving in a new honda
i caught your eye as you drove past
gave me the thumbs up and laughed
afraid
maybe just of what smell a wet stranger might bring to the car

...and i wont lie to you...
this piece is written on a slant
and i'm the kind to curse a hill as i walk up it
i digress

north beach
a bookstore in the rain
the famed city lights home to weirdos and wanderers
warm windows and jazz from pearls spilled into the streets
and into my ears

i ran into an apparition
my heart left me to rap on the being of little flowers by rail road tracks
and forget the greater goings on in a bottle of cheap wine
spinning off into an indulgent decline
heralded as ascention to the golden seat of immortality

life is art always
art is always a lie
looking pretty resting comfortably on the velvet truth
and along this line of reasoning you have to laugh or die

i smiled and walked with the spirit into the bookstore
a poet on the long road
come to stop off at one of many homes

past the 'no public restroom' sign i came to the clerk
asked him to point me to poetry

'no packs in the store, you can check it here' he eyed me

then i was moses walking to the stairs dripping as people parted to give me
a wide berth

i started up the stairs and near the top is a framed poem
and i read

i was sad because the current of the poem ran perfectly opposite to that of the bookstore
in this place where the two things that looked the same on the surface but were repulsed by each other like two ends of polarized iron
there was silence
and the spirit with me whispered words of encouragement and flew away into the space bwtween the place and the words