the air and its quality, the soft moon which we notice,
like a rock among inconsistent twinkles

this certain quality of acoustics as a result of figures lacking in my room
catches yr eye
like a pick
before we snuggle under the blankets in a western
the railroad murmuring in the distance along tracks

oakland, eighteen minutes
orinda, twenty-six minutes

beyond city-center the soft touch of air guitar
your friends gathered around the
record player singing guthrie tunes

too wistful for a work nite
or just wistful enough to fight as a result of it
in the grass at the city
under awnings
red-eyed and sick of caffeine a day later
brimming with revelations


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