A Trip to the Zoo

Backstage, indifference, rehearsals and denials—
To Union Square to Columbus Ave.
City Lights channel the reportage, missed sessions,
Distractions of A Thousand Clowns, faces turned inward, trainees in the literary grape vines. . . .
You shall look through each other.
Today memorize the configurations of the street
And watch over peddlers and drifters of your own kind, without regarding your own face, loose, itself distracted;
You’ll go to the garden with the first rise of adrenaline relieved, touch yur thigh—and wonder if you dream
With tabloid resumes fallen to the floor.

Then you’ll take a coat for the weather
And begin.
As usual, try--also
returning too the window --still
to one o’clock worn rewriting
a disinclination
for what ends on its own.

Or overcome your own reticence.
Go to North Beach direct—out of the question—a short downhill to the Marina is better.
Five blocks to the chocolate shop or so before?
But the spongy ache of your soles deflects; --
As usual you will ignore the empty street: the hills empty of promise.

Reductio, turn right when you should have turned left, down the Polk Street
Crowd haunting narrow sidewalks, gathered at sports taverns and taco stands, burning for nightfall—
Avoid The Toxic and the annoyed, the lingerers and dull Cassandra..

See vee one one one Greenwich.

Where glued in, stapled, momentarily. No one looks—Quite naked off the road:
And down to Van Ness for the bus to…?
Clippered…BEEP, BEEP, BEEP Into the seat.
High chatter in the afternoon.
And so
the people you meet:
comic book illustrators, ESL instructor, patrons of the girlie shows
and poets…
On the F line
the reverberation transition
along the track, high pitched grating
a motion in the sound
their faces, furtive and alert--
“Willmar, where there’s a prison,
[never mentioned in correspondence with boxes of cookies]
Stockton turnaround –on the 4th of July--
Like seagulls adrift in their sewerage--potatoes
spoiled—looking for Union Square—too--
three days now—up from Market--
flower stand’ll tell you?—it used to say—"

Fingers retreat like wounded soldiers.
This incantation a waning revelrie, like a wall.
Beyond deliverance, redress of marrow;
And retrieval static—“What

“what invigorates?
Weaker in the joints, back to Tommy’s don’t ask for change—is this GEARY?
It’s City Hall…
You’re on the wrong bus she said—if you want North Beach,
you have to take the TWO, stay away from the gate,
today’s orange, come by some time, and give it up.

Blank sky, glucose depression, stasis.

Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 04/20/2011 02:40PM by petersz.

Peter, this is a great newsreel of your city and a good read as well.


Les

Thanks, Les. I think I should also thank Hart Crane, for obvious reasons.

cheers,

Peter