Posted by loubird on February 11, 2008
With Headphones in my ears, I attack the night-hewn city, and drop effortlessly into the mouth of the late, rush-hour bustle. I know the streets and spires like a canvas that my own hand painted. The cheap Chinese shops nestle next to the spike of the trans-America triangle.
I go to the number 22 and mash myself into the unknown mess of people. I’m careful to crowd the exit as we climb from 35th to 30th to 25th. We careen from stop to stop as I watch my ipod carefully, and the crowd grows. I touch my screen to change songs and forget where I scurry. At 16th and Valencia I finally leave the metal cocoon and prepare my avatar for a night of tricks and underground parties.
Tonight I baby my wounds, all dressed in black down to each nail. Tonight my career will wreck the crystal of a few seedling hearts. I listen to the hum of the district, knowing full well that my fish-netted legs attract the gaze of many of the surrounding men. Tonight my cry makes a spiral to the moon as I love whichever hands touch me first. Tonight others will gape at me. Tonight I forget that I am just a tube letting things in one end and out the other. My branch will heal some other time.
Posted in art, city, city life, creative writing, graffiti, Photographs, photography, Poems, Poetry, san francisco, sex, women | Tagged: creative writing, graffiti, Photographs, photography, san francisco | 6 Comments »
Posted by loubird on January 24, 2008
In sled dog territory, I remember the many times
my mind raced in Leary-like ellipses.
I remember how I used to think.
The years appear through the end of an old paper towel tube,
like the one I’d find my way around the house with as a child.
I know I’m not many days past spring chick,
but already I see the years crumple up in tin foil,
un-recyclable balls of faded patterns.
Memories can be friends, but memories are more present than past.
Was I ever really that optimistic?
Did I wander about on these first two rungs waiting for a net?
I remember an awareness of death’s existence
that adults said did not exist in people my age.
I remember dancing on rules like they were best friends
that sometimes I needed and sometimes I didn’t.
I remember a past that no longer exists
and my memory is more present than past.
The past no longer exists.
My past is an old friend who’s moved on.
The past no longer exists.
Posted in art, creative writing, culture, memory, Photographs, photography, Poems, Poetry | Tagged: memory, Photographs, photography, Poems, Poetry | 5 Comments »
Posted by loubird on November 6, 2007
A pregnant, purple sky waits while
glowing automata dance like fireflies
with the loitering darkness.
A lone star still hangs above the fog,
we hold our breath–
soon sidewalk sleepers will be
expelled from their doorways
and cardboard cushions.
As you lift your modest veil,
we rub sleep from our eyes
and thoughts of rush hour, skyscrapers,
excel spreadsheets saturate our minds.
We lose the virginity of the city’s early morning
and buses inevitably bustle by
taking our dreams to concrete
as we rustle up our monthly tuition
for your twilight university.
Posted in art, city, city life, creative writing, culture, Photographs, Poems, Poetry, san francisco, society, sunrise | Tagged: city, homeless, photography, photos, Poems, Poetry, sunrise | 5 Comments »
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