CALIFORNIA LAST NIGHT

california last night, again,
i was going to put my pants on and leave
without disturbing even one of your hairs,
go down to the airport with nothing
besides three changes of clothing and my saxophone.
go down to the airport
and blow my saxophone begging for moneys
till i had enough money
to buy a fast ticket to san diego, i was going to go,
but i couldn't go like that
when you were breathing so light, rolled over on your belly,
hair all messed up,
couldn't go like that. i remember it though,
the way the pacific ocean
welcomed me with an openness i had never felt, how the city
rolled among hills, didn't nestle among them,

balboa park
on a kinda shitty rainy day,
palm trees by the bus stop, the hillcrest queer crowd,
the rudford's gang at nine o'clock in the a.m., old people acting very friendly
how light all of my things seemed out there,
one small bag over my right shoulder
for money, cigarettes, random found knick-knacks,
and other such valuable artifacts
and commodities, and one small pack on my back
for clothing, books, notebooks, tarot cards, and other staple possessions. seemed so light,

like i might even blow away
and lose myself,
on a sudden salty gust.