They say
North Beach was sleeping sound
with pleaded skirts
and has been heroes
drooling onto a pillow
stuffed with plucked feathers
from the bird that never flew
while down in the Misson
poets were
smoking lightning
and breathing fire
when it struck
the back room
aluminum walls
of Café Babar
decorating lonliness
with cheap beer
and not enough answers
as to why poetry
wasn’t saving the world.
Speaking the spoken word
before it was spoken
sending love letters
to the muse
before they could
afford the stamp
you didn’t need to de-code
decipher
learn a secret handshake
sell your soul
to the highest bidder
to see a pint glass
of liquid passion
flying at your face
90 miles an hour
if you weren’t
cutting your heart out
with the torn edge of page
because it was about
how fast the blood
could spill over the paper
before you dropped
into the hands of devotion