Posted by shannonclark on October 25, 2007
Sounds of the new city echo through thin, uninsulated wallsmotorcycles roar over poetry readings
wafts of smoke, not cigarettes, drift into homes, businesses and down the street
while in every doorway someone sleeps
on the sidewalk, even deep in residential neighborhoods, random piles of shoes, books, pots, pans and Chinese caligraphy sets appear.
He wanders at odd hours, waits for new buses on old corners
a phrase echoing of poems past.
He settles in but is not, yet, home.
Just passing and lingering for a time.
by Shannon Clark, Oct 25th 2007
Posted in personal, reading, San Francisco | Tagged: poetry, San Francisco | Leave a Comment »