black city,
breathes steam,
over greasy streets,
a dishwasher smokes a cigarette,
and watches cops drink coffee,
in an idling cruiser,
whores, junkies, bums,
united in their collective despair,
high rise lights,
throw yellow beams into the foggy air,
bus brakes hiss and pop,
street corner preacher starts from the top,
baby dreams to a Thelonious Monk tune,
a brokenhearted drunk,
mutters softly,
to a brokenhearted moon.
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Get lots of pics for this blog from www.daylife.com. The caption with this photo read: "Father River Sims, a Catholic priest, right, speaks with a homeless man in San Francisco on Sunday, Nov. 21, 2010. Sims, a former sex worker who spends most nights handing out food, condoms, socks and needles, says, "I don't pay attention to what the pope says. Never Have. I've done needle exchange and condoms for years. I go by what people need."
4 comments:
Once again, you've captured that gritty urban taste. I like the way you paint with words.
Dude some days you just have to go out and love the Dharma Bums.
Dox, you and I both need a million vacations. You can only drive down Main Street so many times.
This was freakin' good. Really felt like a beat poet of the street wrote this.
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