bedecked and adornin purple sunshine powder costumes,

we drifted along golden dulcimer alleyways,

absorbin wax museum facades,

exchangin cowboy hats,

passin along smoke-rolled shamrocks,

beatifically nescient of further responsibilities to the street

besides an occasional hop step between sidewalk cracks

or a warm hover inside vacant breezes off Harmonic Bay.

present at this parade,

visibility remains as hopeless as the ashtrays we reach for,

as vacant as donatin expense accounts without wonderin why,

focused only on the constant purplesearchlights

ridin up and down these foghorn abstract shorelines,

where elegant bums collect coin

while improvisin mad nautical yarns between rusted Yakutat harpoons

or runaway unhinged cattle haulers

drifting down from Juneau to Puget Sound.

getting hustled may be an acceptable way to celebrate in these parts

without being asked out to go dancing.

down the street

a huddled quintet of bearded bohemian scholars kneel,

absorbed in parking lot dice games,

fingerin calculators behind their backs,

reckonin where the next kewpie doll fortuitous inspiration will come from.

meanwhile intrigued backpackers intently photograph

pumpkin pie mermaids thru open ended lenses,

dodging leftover black white reflections.

further down Union Pacific tracks

rusted boxcars crumble along Northern Pacific rainy rails,

and we contemplate contrary those December Greyhound bus stations

where Neal and Jack once saluted departin tourist federalies,

clutching their goldtooth mercenary ammunition paychecks,

gratefully biddin adios  

to the next

comin-on-anyhow Magictown nighttime.

San Francisco, 1976