Make a date: the Ferry Building Farmer's Market.
Wait in a civilized line for a sourdough.
In gray we trust the bridge of shadow, steel, and sunlight
To conjure the dungeness claws for an altar:
Motor oil and seagull bones; a coil of feces
Nearest the merchant with roses from Bakersfield,
And nearest where we kiss, the first of many kisses
(Enormous, between and beneath, we're impressive)—
Nearest rust we trust will wait—our lives beginning
Ordered disorder, with roses and sourdough;
And ready for bridge or pier collapse,
And ready for kiss and crab and rust.
"Workers were still hastily painting over graffiti calling Colonel Qaddafi a “bloodsucker” or demanding his ouster. Just off the tour route were long bread lines where residents said they were afraid to be seen talking to journalists."
—DAVID D. KIRKPATRICK, The New York Times, Published: February 26, 2011
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/27/world/africa/27libya.html
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