Have you ever been to San Francisco?
With no money?
It's like going to the Moon, Honey,
Without oxygen.
The Moon with palm trees
And a beach.
The Moon with tasty tasty treats
On all the streets
And pretty girls (?) all in a row
And Dark Delights
Even in the daytime
Waiting to take
That last nickle
You don't have.
Yeah, I left my heart there.
Just like the song...
Traded it for a bus ticket
Out.

I have been tethered
Weathered and withered
Blistered and bled
By these strings round my heart.

Six little strings
Keyed up and tightened
Heart-to-the-head
Til my fingers attend.

I do not need to know
How far or why
Just push me
And I will fall
Quite high
I will go over what
And under if
With room to spare

God cut Existence into eight even slices.
     God was Italian, after all...
     Rome, and all that...
     Jesus was a fluke...
But the wine trick was good.

So God passed out the pizza to the worthy:
     A slice to the Needy-
     A slice to the Humble-
     A slice to the Rich
(But he picked off the pepperoni.)

God gave a piece to the dour, unbaptized;
     A slice to the children-
     A slice to the Fallen
     On their way to Hell
(It's a long ride, and God is Forgiving).

God looked down into the box at the Last Piece:
     Angels hovered, drooling...
     Seraphim, Cherubim,
     Arch and minor-winged First Born
Salivated above the Cardboard Holy of Holies.

God just laughed and shoved it into His Omnipotent Mouth.
     And He Screamed!
     Rivers ran dry!
     Oceans parted!
"**** cheese is HOT!"

Eight beers down
long hallway to my room
Zoom!
Fury Furry Tail Jet squeals
between my
sunken knees
with OUT! OUT! OUT!
on her NOW agenda.

Twenty dead minutes later
her nails scrawl blackboard pain
to be let in.

I wake up standing there
where  I started.

She beats me to my bed.

I thought I had lost you.
I looked everywhere.
You had been here, then,
In that Good year.
I sometimes thought
I could hear you
Laughing
Singing
But no...
It was only the
Hollow of my
Heart.
But then, today!
Today I found your old hand-mirror,
The small silver one I gave you
Which you left in a forgotten drawer.
And I can almost see you,
Your sweet reflection
Through the dust.

You have been the engine
I have been
A small part
Of your
Exhaust.
I have been
The breather
The intake
Giving you
Air
To
Burn
To
Run
Right
Over me.