At the trolley stop looking left,
I know that if I see Twin Peaks, I’m facing away from the ocean,
The Bay starts in a watch tower,
Market Street, then hills.
This recital keeps you away,
Writing keeps you away,
Suffering keeps you away,
Time keeps you away.
We visited Twin Peaks the first day of the eleventh son,
No, I mean the first day of the ninth visit,
And took MUNI to the edge or pinocle,
Scrambling to some dusty rock,
Surrounded by scrubby California bushes,
And leaning back facing the Bay,
You curled your hand inside of me,
My overalls had dropped to the ground,
The air smelled of the ocean, lupins, and come.