truth

I stand on the edge of my roof
Like a man without principles,
Stout and stocky and uncompromising,
The bull blood of a teenage male.
From my vantage point I can see
What color the neighbor’s trim is painted and
That my mother’s daffodils are coming in.
My whole fucking life laid before me.
I like to come up here every once in a while,
To be a little closer to the sun,
To feel the sea wind.
I pace at the edge of my roof, watching the San Francisco hills roll away…