Thanks for coming out, eh.
It's a big crowd, it's good.
So, I'm going to open this up with a 49er.
This is called "Impromptu 49er, 1:25 AM, in Los Angeles."
"The streets come up under your feet because it loves you.
It's a graduated walk comfortably curbside,
under glass, neon, and night.
Moths hit street lamps through rain,
mapping stars with their wounds.
Step between cars generating syncopated breaths
in the vacuum of their speed.
Shae's hooking it on Broadway and Seventh,
or just waiting for the light to change.
Chance encounter, we say hi 'cause it's always colder
after you pass somebody up, innit?
It's a long walk knowing you'll U-turn turn soon,
but I keep my cash in my sock and you closer.
Three coffees come fast from an all night diner lukewarm
in tall Styrofoam.
I always edge the curb on return trips,
somehow trying not to fall into the street.
Warmer inside with you but I can't make someone wait out
in the cold like that.
There is a symmetry in the arrangement of streets,
like a love letter.
I give Shea a coffee under the light.
Same reason I gave you one-- tradition-- not
expecting you to get me back.
You only ever see returns if you're coming back this way."
"Old Frost."
Dust on the neck, neck of a dead.
Dust coats the feathers, tiny temperate feathers.
On the neck of the winter of the decade,
decadent dents in the the the.