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Lunatics Waiting
(San Francisco - Circa 1960)
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I remember concrete cold on my feet
and manacles of dreams
rattling the wind at my ear
through the city's sleep.
I was no hobo, or beast of night,
no beggar staggering
in rags beneath half-lights.
I was there in simple hunger,
to steal a glance at Ginsberg-madness,
and make colors of my visions,
dance in the curling shadows
of the bones of North Beach.
Music poured onto the sidewalks,
smiles flickered,
hands wrestled in the slick evening,
coming so close I closed my eyes in fear,
and lowered my head,
felt the wad of poetry in my pocket,
and winced at possibilities
wriggling in alleys.
The importuning night
lived with ragged geniuses
behind gaudy Chinese windows.
Poetic merchants of honest blood
were perched at the tip of my reach.
Lunatics waited to kiss me,
and overlook my fears.
They would not wait forever.
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