West Portal

Self-absorbed shoppers

Stiff and rigid as Davidson’s cross

Just a glance from grace.

Morning in the Avenues

Trilling birds penetrate fading sleepiness

Waking residents to a new dawn

Daring them to go out on a limb

Purse their lips

Make love sounds to the world.

Candlestick Park

They complained about the wind.
Willie said it isn’t hot.
They pissed and moaned and griped.
Willie told ’em: Learn to win with what you got.

Mission Dolores

More like the Avenues

Than the Mission,

We think of what might have been,

Had they camped on York Street,

Half a mile further from the wind.

Graffiti Ocean Beach 1970s

Nixon’s Dad Should Have Pulled Out Early

Ortega street resevoir

Tai Chi artists

Go with the flow in the fog,

As I shiver and quiver

Looking for Marin Hills and God.

Glaring

This dazzling light overwhelms us.
Having come here to be somebody,
We realize we’re nobody.

We drink to feel right,
To feel godliness we fail to realize,
In this city where God is always right before our eyes.

Mariposa street

Painting everywhere.
Taggers overflow.
With butterflys’ brillance.

Grace

Swaggering against the wind
You vow to live this city’s beauty.
When you feel ugly
You step into these wonderful churches,
Out of the gales,
Marvelling at peaceful light,
Your promise still in sight
Only much more humbly.

Mornin’ afta

Hung over again

We shiver in the wind.

Surveying the splendor of this city,

Knowing we betrayed its beauty,

Corrupted its freedom.

Slaves to our lust,

We still cannot rise to the occasion:

It isn’t about us