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yielding out of light

At the boat dock,
large, looming monoliths
with glowing teeth but no
while we steam from that
glimmering mecca of ours–
on this queer day…

The bricks of black
cracking open with
edges of light–
sun breaking thru
sliver of a remnant

The second cup of coffee
the copy machine snafu
yielding into onyx
cubes with glowing
holes all shot thru.

…and how afar,
a reckless hari kari
of prongs, boxes and
spikey towers scratch
at the sky

who would ever have
thought this cold
black water could
swallow this fiery
city up….?
not I

Strings of lights
bridging the bay area
as radioactive beads
traverse the strips
the downtown an
evil isotope of the hills
just by, twin peaks,
and Bernal.

From here the magnificent
malignancy is contained,
a pool of lights
afire on the bay.

But then the gasoline trail
of lights shooting stars
down the peninsula–
pow! and here
are we now–
overcrowding, suffocating our lover,
the jewel in our eyes
of pride.

We must love it
from afar this
holy emanating Gammorah,
yet not turn to salt.

The ripples of the
mountains perk up
in October sky, the
violent mish mash
of skyscrapers no
longer threaten the
sky, dwarfed by
her magnificence.

If this sounds like
a love poem
it is–

the water opening up
behind the boat,
a mere ripple on
the surface of
this earth but an
opening nonetheless
into beauty–

the cold is descending
wispy clouds want
to blanket her.

But the sky is afire
tonight, an orange
ember of sky
the sparkling jewels,
switches of lights,
bright and dim patterns
of sounds to my

A palette of oranges,
yellows, and golds.
I question them
how they dare
compete with a fire
in the sky, a sunset

a moonsliver so bright
its shooting out lights.

How dare they?
open their streetlight
eyes so bright?
they are blinded
to the music of
what is light.


– San Francisco | October 31, 2000

©2006 Jamie Gross | All Rights Reserved