I want to drink San Francisco
like a desert wanderer at an oasis,
like a college freshman shotguns a beer,
puncture it’s pressurized metal skin and feel the thick copper foam rise in my heart.
I want to drink San Francisco whole, to throw it back in one painfully large swallow,
to quench myself so fully it strains my larynx and unsettles my stomach,
so deeply I can feel it rearranging my insides,
and rendering me unable to consume any more,
or to sing of my thirst any longer.
I want to be overwhelmed by San Francisco.
None of these dainty sips from obscure vintage glassware -
I want to be waterboarded with San Francisco
To be given a swirly in San Francisco
To let San Francisco drip onto my forehead, one slow heavy drop at a time, until I’ve gone quite mad.
Hold me under, I’ve had enough air for this lifetime,
I’ve struggled enough on terra firma,
I’m ready to surrender to the fluid chaos.
You’ll find me in the waters of San Francisco
In the foggy silted currents
In the wet streets
In a metal tube speeding deep under the bay.
How many other poets have drowned here,
Knowing at least that they were in the right place to do so,
How many overflowing ashtrays and smoky beams of daylight on unmade beds?
How many stale rooms full of stale people struggling to gasp out a beautiful song, if they could just cough the world off their vocal cords?
How many wasted bodies and wasted minds sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss of the city,
Drufting down deep in the sea of strangers,
Coming to rest deep at the bottom of a trench,
Where only the most solitary and grotesque of animals can survive?