hilly tincan evening

“We’re not our skin of grime, we’re not dread bleak dusty imageless locomotives, we’re golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our own eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.” Allen Ginsberg, Sunflower Sutra, Collected Poems 1947 – 1980

Well, and on this not quite as “hilly tincan evening,” a bit south of San Francisco, I wish you all the best. Sunday Announcements will return next Sunday. Sometime tomorrow – Tuesday – the collection of poems written in response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt will post. Wednesday will offer the next prompt, a little something about hot August nights. Meanwhile, poem on my friends.