Mutant Skies and Passerby's.

I wrote a poem for myself, the first after perhaps two years.

I was reading one that I had written in the Winter of 2008 in Chicago and felt inspired to write one that is somewhat an anti-thesis now, in California, in the summer of 2011.


Mutant Sky
June 16, 2011
Palo Alto, California

Here,
the runners tread lightly over
sun-browned leaves, leaf-like skin
gleaming, bare feet
flying past trees like the Lorax

Here,
the sticky sun melts and drips
on ponytailed moms with
sleek roller-carriages
and a golden retriever
panting and happy

Here alone on the fair veranda, with the notes wafting
Through streets like cinnamon
The fruit is sweeter,
The chardonnay is crisper
The homeless are gentler
Perhaps I am prettier too

It is a mood I can borrow
Bobbing my brain, tuning my body
with many asanas
to this processed beat
low bass and hi-hats
wilt and lilt while
Uncold, under the mutant sky
I find my way forth



I can't believe it has almost been a year since I've been in Palo Alto. The seasons have gone through a cycle; on a warm 75-degree night like this far back in August 2010, I moved into this apartment with the help of new and old friends, opened the window with some difficulty and heard the caltrain whistle by, and later fell asleep sweating. Tonight, the first truly warm night since that night, it happens again.