The clock hands keep tick-tick-ticking on, and — as always — I struggle to remain on time.
You love me despite / My shortcomings, although / Failure brings me down.
Every month, my heart / Breaks — the truth splinters my soul…
I stand in the shadow / Formed by both the murky San Francisco fog / And the monstrous brick church before me.
I surf the asphalt and concrete waves, the rubber wheels gliding ever so effortlessly over the pavement.
Evening falls, and the only sounds filling the air are the jingle of my dog’s harness and leash and my soles’ thump-thump-thump against the smooth sidewalk.
As I lie prostrate upon the hot, cracked ground, / I remind myself: in order to go up, I must go down.
Atop / The heap, I stake / My claim: I’ve earned the right / To assert my power, proclaim / It’s mine.
As soon as I cross the Carquinez Bridge, I feel it.
I spy you, friend, across the way: / Your face suggests compassion, / Lips that seem naught to betray / My secrets in any fashion.