san francisco

lost again in alley scrubs seeking a straight path among inclining bricks buildings odd and sharp as needles loom over us all braving a short walk home, canyons of cracked asphalt and singular puddles alive with oil cans and rainbows that spread out in decaying circles concentric and amorphous at once, greased and glistening from stuttering lights hanging over a servants entrance of a restaurant kitchen where we seen strange men in white aprons and t-shirts wield their professional knives and hoist more trays of filthy dishes to a crowded aluminum counter, long cars and short cabs drive by on the main street we walk to, past dumpsters and cardboard condominiums exposing an arm or leg only half concealed during a dream of rain, the slurred hissing of tires on the street, someone shaking a bell, store fronts lit bright in righteously fake light of heaven, something is about to erupt over the spires that prod the clouds full of northern rain, there's not a taxi anywhere as we stand there full of food and shivering in the wind.