Print

where pine trees line sea cliffs and covesand dark gulleys and gulls cry shrill-voiced and sharp-billedfloat in mid-air and the wind comes up from watsonville eastfrom lettuce fields and artichoke fieldsstrawberry fields, onion fields, find sanctity in fieldsfind sanctity in sur, the big sur, big crag cliffs, surf sprayand soil of indian californiathe clamshell cracked tooth and acorn shoe californiawe have cars and we have maps to san francrescent city, oakland and the gilman, montereysan simeon, solinassleep under stars and steal cigarettescampfires we are poor, beachfires we see heaven in moonlit wavesinspect a fire glowour faces are like aztec godswe visit oakland warehouses where j.s. sits candlelitand lives forever in bonds and healthy robustlaughing princelike telling stories of chicago squatswhere you see your breath on hard morningswe stay in l.a. for a monthand walk beach avenues and feel deadLetras de cancioneswe sleep on the sand in santa monicawoken in chill dawn by lifeguards in brown shorts and red jacketswe get drunk and throw rocks and parked cars in san diego and wake up feeling guiltybut in marin there is fog and rotting cottages and thistle weed morningsmason jars, lining windowsillsand in bakersfield small town high school girls suck off their dealers in the backs of old buicksspit out the window then tie off and belts fulfilling and joyous into the upholsterywhile the radio plays softand it is darkstreets are empty and wetand we race below light at overpassour cars like rhinos and sharkssubmarinesand onward we move into where?a job where we feel bare and picked apart and misunderstoodor those schools where teachers talk with cadaver voiceno, no, nono we want and pray and sweat for nothing more than to stand our one pulse race to the nextto run all our days and find finally in the promised land(to run all our days and find finally in the promised land) From Letras Mania