whats it like
Saturday night, broken English
in alleyways, friends scattered through
the spiderweb of San Francisco streets
in primetime two o'clock AM?

whats it like
drinkin a pre-sundown trainway beer,
escaping away to
citywide escapades,
swallowed into the belly of the
insanity, digested in the intestine
of inebriation?

whats it like?
a nightmare of swarming
time travel, broken memories,
drinking pitchers, finding sixty dollars
at a bar, listening to the Doors,
and finding Kerouac, heading to
Broadway Street for strip shows
(the scene a smokey, sexy glow
about it) and going outside to smoke
an innocent cigarette, when

a cop, police, handcuffs, paddywagon,
jailcell, bloody-shirted man, floor sleep,
no sleep, not let out till ten AM on good behavior,
no phone,
no cigarettes,
a letdown of a morningtime

coffee like a disease,
train finally leaves, sitting upstairs
falling asleep, dreaming
fast, of cold cigarettes
and taxicabs I could've caught.

"Sitting, swiftly sleeping, he said aloud to himself," he said aloud to himself.

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