View from Sutro

Standard

Seen from golden heights
the tangled city
squares up.

Straight streets,
rigid veins
spurt quicksilver
past towers
of fog.

It throbs.

Hearts, minds,
sing passion
joy, lust,
boredom.

A dying man
clings to desperate sheets,
passing;

An infant cries
drawing raw air,
beginning.

It’s alive,
greater
than its sum.

See how it beats
in the cool Pacific sun?

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