SAN FRANCISCO BAY BLUES
I haven't the patience now to rest my head on
your open legs. And my own world's handmaiden
has grown out of control. Mozart died at 35, buried
in a pauper's grave. It happened as if pre-ordained.
Now he's famous and cute and rich. Big deal to
all that. Let's us run together to San Francisco. we
can dance and get drunk at the Mizzen Master; and
I'll park my big car right where Sal Paradiso parked
that Hudson Hornet. Was that the one?
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Doctor, doctor, I'm feeling so sick. I want the blind
man in the alley to understand my absence. I just can't
make it today. What speed-freak junky was it who said
(I already forget) : 'I'm dilated to meet you.'
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