Friday, February 1, 2008

signal everywhere

single soul saxophone bounces off the Market's walls

clear up to Westlake Center

a perfect accompaniment

for your haunt of my city

lavender scented smoke wisps below the haze

eyes burn, leak without knowing why

drowning the city in wet salt

which runs into the Sound

creates tidal waves

tips over ferries

then rushes back up Pike towards The Showbox

douching away the dirt

baptizing the crackheads and Market tourists alike

while both I and the city wait for you