Chris Murray

Chris Murray

Cafe Morphemics
(San Francisco Trip, July 26, 2003)

1. After walking Jack’s Ocean Beach mid-cloud, last night & a Love Niobe Now! T shirt streaming by dizzying desire at curb, at bus kiosk, four cornered traffic a circle of sunlit linguistics drama to be figured out: how’s the chicken water-walker to cross?  Every I almost epic: sun’s gone uptown— I slipped into an Orthodox mistake looking for art, thumbed a stack of saints in the shop: Irene looking the serene she never was & now I’ve no bus to keep thinking in English where there’s no hache or rho to fall accent back on, translating Jack from frustration’s (considering my sources are not talking to me) minor hell rates: no Dante level charges so mucho & cayenne aroma of why oh so sensitive sipping of green jasmine tea on the grrr sidewalk of whose happy restaurant here—all the food comes proportioned in decipherable noise 2. Noon cannot be stopped generic as paint peeling off skin or slats in the private jokes I do get. More noise just at low dis, din, aqueous, an I has too much never to bother with & water working hard the woman cook whose cheeks are permanently Sappho apple & matter of fact about the hungry blonde high heel customer outside the cafe speaking of what moaning experience? In the good cook’s hands portobello sautees away. 3. By dusk I am ask. More between the wide whale 2 by 4 fence.  Icon of scorpion or is it a grenade?  What are people here putting on their boundaries today? I think I just want a small tulip petal circle, thank you. Black stamen. 4. Majority here are critical condition good looking but the homeless whose dirty socks are published everywhere though no one is reading them in this weak Chardonnay ice light. 5. Seven dollar cucumber and radish salad early twenty-first century epic love scene: no one can afford the dentist since therapy.  & the apple cheeked Sappho cook keeps her ruddy cool: she’s adding a little salt to the wounded leg of lamb in port, the cherries jubilee aflame lovely murmurs circulate like cash oh this then is a kind of carnivore’s love glove galore.  I’m one more hungry one.

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