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Poetry

San Francisco


Maryam Djavid
February 19, 2007
iranian.com

The sky sighs and lets out a frothy pant of fog
Safe in the smoky folds of the horizon
Enveloped in anticipation
Is where I dream of you

***

the golden gate
fiery rusty serene
the bay beneath
I dream of this city
impractical and ephemeral
Slipping beneath the vapor veil
each night

***

I fill a fresh sheet of verse
The silhouette of buildings and bridges
tucks in another 24 hours of solitude
comparable to the latino loneliness
of gabriel garcia marquez

***

In the black night shines
a Sahara
passionate and dry
you bring me water
and lace my thirst with famine

***

i hear your voice in the traffic
Weaving in and out of my ear
a large fly trapped in a small space
clammy and sober

***

see i like to dream of you
consciously caffeinated
don't want to risk any of this sweetness
not sharing with the night sky, greedy with a sea of stars
they shine brightly enough without my help

***

And smoke blankets the city
endlessly and effortlessly
the weight of butterfly kisses
and where you kiss leaves traces of gold ropes

***

i flutter through the days in single-handedly
fantasies stitch through the night like a soundless gypsy
heavy with stolen jewels

***

for you i am a vacant palate
awaiting spice
Accent me
give me new flavor - top me off
fuel me
destroy my every emptiness

***

oils from your hair leak
under my skin
run like an escaped convict
through my veins
don't run away
its better inside
i'll protect you
better than any tangible existence
give you kisses you can live off of forever
the type you long for when
your stomach grumbles
the kind you ordered
but didn‚t get
the variety not on the menu
but when you know the chef personally
at some sweet cafe in north beach
like a fat clove of garlic
in little italy
or a thristy money tree in china town

***

i know its foggy - look hard
can you make out the bridge and structures
taste the salty chowder steaming in breadbowls
hear the chimes of cable cars dancing down lombard
the watchful eye of coit tower
lets roll each other up like bammer weed
from dolores park
or a burrito from the mission
spare each other true change
and a pandhandler from the height

***

you know i live in an enchanted place
home of st. francis
among ghosts of beatniks
kerouac and ginsberg
snapped their fingers and got high
off the romance of my town
morsels of jazz and poetry still live here
like tiny stale breadcrumbs
fed to skinny ducks
they suffice our mythical wants
we mask our exhaustion in the bay
every evening clouds roll in steadily
layering the cityscape
a stampless postcard
reaching you by fate alone

 

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