In Which BigScary is Almost On Time
I want to write a preface, and there should probably be some official footnotes, or something, but the cafe's running out of internet and I've gotta get this beast up. Also. This isn't the poem I was originally going to post, but that one is at home on the back of a Tiger Balm box. So just paint me pretty & call me Frank O'Hara. PS- The spacing's all messed up. Sorry. PPS- This beast makes no sense. Enjoy regardless. To the Over-Fashionable Girls Taking Over-Fashionable Photos at the Bay or Notes on Why I Refuse to Write a San Francisco Poem What memories I have of you, tonight, &you sitting at promising points wishing realities out of vacations out of the void that slinks between a zero in checking ¬. Simplicity doesn’t want to be gained: no distillation that my lingus could sidle into. But there are brain mush molochs to consider& their mollusking ways, I’ve been nerding to see. And then a Pelican! A real...