“I’ve always felt that there’s a very thin membrane between madness, alcoholism, and/or destitution and being an OK American guy in a comfortable heated apartment with meatballs and a decent Sauvignon Blanc in the fridge.”

I am, Madam., no beggar, but a peddler of dreams,
Purveyor of the Gospel of Beauty, Reciter of Rhymes . . .

And they regarded him from the shadows of their porches,

At the Hotel Oblivion, Airport Drive
  Mezzanine, Conference Center B

      You keep poking at it
finger, drill, snout & awl
till you find yourself at the back

The big claw takes its angle
and drives down hard,
shivering Kezar’s concrete bleachers

Wildsam Field Guides just released its San Francisco edition, which includes interviews, illustrated maps, an almanac, and personal essays. Below, the poet August Kleinzahler writes about living in the city by the bay. Cold steamy air blew in thro…