Got an eyeful of SF at night from across the Bay, with fog tickling
the towers. The camera refused to resolve the image, so … haiku below.
Messy jewelry box br>
Trailing gems in the water, br>
Snagging feathered veils.
Moving is still in my mind. I’ll soak up the beauties here while I can.
Caveat emptor: tasteless humor.
It just smacked me in the frontal lobe that “ruination” is one
transposition away from “urination.”
My professional trajectory suddenly makes a lot more sense.
“Nacre” sounds like an erotic euphemism. A leisurely beachcombing near ancient oyster beds led me to realize that. In fact, it went further, and prompted a poem.
The meter, for those who care, is represented visually as follows:
Oh the shine! My fingers ache
To touch that sweet thing:
Silken colors, slippery,
As soft as me there;
Curves that arc in gentle swoons
Around the body
Once awash in holy calm
Within that temple,
Wrapping scarves of pearl
Around its softness:
Breathing water, eating sand,
Casing empty, body gone,
It fills my eyes now:
Oyster shell, long empty, laps
The flowing water.
Coming up to Castro & Market, I noticed half a dozen middle-aged men, most in wonderful shape, some with jackets draped over their chairs and some with jeans in puddles around their feet. Wearing nothing but hats. … And a few tattoos, possibly as punctuation, but it’s not like they cover anything.
I perked up and went over; said, “Gentlemen, I _love_ your outfits!”
A circle of shit-eating grins glowed back at me. The cutest-and-he-knew-it said, “Thanks; we worked real hard on ’em!”
Had it been an enclosed space (like a bar), I’d have had a comeback, but aware as I was of the very mixed crowd, I just gave a little laugh and passed on –with a big grin.
I love this town.
Smelling tranquil, earthy,
Kiss the looming trees in
Almost plenty; better,
Much, than concrete jungle.
I’m briefly amazed:
Do trees, clouds, waves fit on string?
Those are _my_ prayer beads.
Pisses me off that almost all the studies done on CRPS insist on recruiting subjects (that is, patients) who have only one affected limb! This specifically precludes a huge proportion of us. Unrealistic & stupid.
Happily (and never was the word less apt), RSDS.org is doing a 20-year study on the natural history of CRPS. With luck, that might change the general focus to something more realistic. It only takes practice about, oh, 10-15 years to catch up with the data.
Frkn one-affected-limb-only. Sheesh. Bloody amateurs.
If I had a massive gift to endow, I’d create scholarships for people with CRPS to get all the support & equipment they need to complete medical school, medically-related advanced degrees, whatever it takes.