prince hamlet of his hexagram

08.46 UK/00.46 SF

"San Francisco itself is art, above all literary art. Every block is a short story, every hill a novel. Every home a poem, every dweller within immortal. That is the whole truth."
- W.Sarovan

does anybody wanna be anything out of the ordinary? asks the instructor, the smartest kid in class who comes to school drunk raises his hand and says





'yes sir, i'd like to be a dollar.'

- bob dylan tarantula



prince hamlet walks his st bernard shakespeare
every morning at 6
along the waves,the foamy sour milk left in cartons
and tipped out on sunday mornings,
the charcoal sand itching between his toes
and his the temporary lion that roars on his foot.
aslan speaks his secret language not buildings of hexagrams
or rhombus or fuel injected refridgerators
but the size of dimes in his hands,
the flavour of his fathers cologne on his tongue,
the scent of fresh camera film,
the ghosts no one else speaks.
he calls his beautiful beast shakespeare,watching him dance
in the grass on the dunes - his old amigo
silently faithful. he is the view from the other side.
on nights in julie's room, he recalls nothing.
on mornings infront of the vast expanse, it whispers everything.
as he turns his back to the sea,the green bill flutters under a stone
'i am sick of heroic sorrow'

and he remembers, in composition, he once wanted to be a dollar.


-e.w.