Poem for Music & Muses; for Martin

My friend is in my ears again
on Sunny San Francisco.

His soundtrack all merry and sad.

I see him and angelic
moaning voice
reflected in a thousand
glass floors & concrete,
and in the oddity
of 2m wide red houses
slanted, sloping, eloping down the
steepness of hewn streets.

I see him and beatific psalms
refracted in wrinkles
and torn t-shirt hats of
madmen and raving gods
who scream:

“I am the baddest motherfucker
you ever seen!”

elicit laughter and creeping tears
from passers-by, and then me.

I reflect myself, envelope
myself in him, and in
the rolling concrete of
midday (though no later),
find myself still lost,
though perhaps closer
now – perhaps closer.

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