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Harsh Mission / San Francisco, CA 2011

Through the harsh white sunlight
the random bits of cast offs tumble and stick
smeared to the pavement and layered upon
upright posts, from pillar to post they roll
on bikes and trikes, on roller blades
and skate boards, down and out,
drunk and oh so sober, they meander
as if on the streets of Paris
in their mock Bistros with their
fake hair, their primal piercings, and their
do me do's just screaming of abuse...

The childlike sibyls and torrid sirens
howl at the fog banked moon
as they stumble on the dole from room 
to rented room, or huddle in the bus shelters
waiting to sneak a cheap ride down town.
Bizzaro meets his mate in the masked
denizens of the mission district 
breasts starred, caped and on display for all to see
face hidden behind plastic lunacy...

The giggling effervescence of misspent youth
crumbles into a heedless epicurean
mosh pit of aimless wandering
joyous neglect...
It is truly hard to know where the
garbage ends and the art begins.

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