…..and I say,
that Lombard Street
got the curves to knock
the straight out of my shoes,
echoing the hallway,
sounding on walls
cracked from
fast songs and babies crying,
in a city, under a heaven
where angels have gone south,
away from broken glass and
whiskey breath made of
sea foam and
cold summer winds,
raising a disturbance like cats
in garbage cans
and dogs growling at a
full cheese moon
as a car speeds by
breaking a puddle into
a thousand stars,
sending wet comets into a
gray sky night
where fog horns hold
the beat
and sidewalks
point the way
to where jazz
cuts wide the skin.
.
