purple satin magical nonsense

oblivious and too jammed to care which finger

to press the hungry vein,

and in spite of any further charades,

blond horn Stinson Beach con child

pleads for can’t come cream ecstasy

for down lower Broadway,

it's all about a token mainline,

down lower Broadway,

where Yukon fish peddlers are the City's last hope

a man cries out tonight,

high-heeled hipsters

stud cowboy riverfront drivers

point, then retreat

as if from a pestilential creature,

all the while grieving man

rocking hot and wet

choking from beneath poisoned lungs,

scarred arms

and we blessed survivors of this concrete jungle

stumble on

giving no shit

which gutter will eventually summon

our own dead bodies

San Francisco

9/20/73