…..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.


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