Hot flashes all through the winter
And on a cold night in San Francisco
An old Mercedes cloaked in dew
Idles by the stoop while frantically I write to you
An inbred dog shitting in a planter
A strange man trying to tell me riddles
It all flies in the face of the weight of this
The city's aware I'm unfit for reconciliation
Nervously, I fumble through my lexicon
But all I find is tropes and regretful ramblings
There's nothing to say to change the way these years have gone
No way to clear the fog collected on the window
Just the blinking of lights, the calm before a landslide
The eternal fear of the threat of impending backslide
The enviable course of the life and death of a mayfly
The comparable fate of a fig tree in bloom in Bethany