Folsom St.   Nerves —’70’s

a beat up building on Folsom Street

cars rush by late for the freeway

late for the bridge

trash in the street cracks in the window

& every player in the band

lives on a separate floor

aligned by the window well

A bass amp on the floor

pressed into service as a coffee table

linoleum asbestos & an old junk tv

tuned to the all night movies (movies ’til dawn)

a beat up record player & speakers

& my kitty cats torment the puppy

(who howls when they slap him

with their claws outstretched)

& Jack & Connie are yelling again fighting again

round & round shouts down the well

I had an onion Paul had a spud

& we fried ‘em up in oil

with catsup borrowed from Clown Alley

San Francisco—the ’70’s—a city of outlaws

the West—drifters & outsiders

rents are cheap & we’re passing the days

in a basement

hours of rehearsal while

the clock tower on a downtown bank

ticking the hours by   ten or sixteen

nothing in the fridge  nothing in the cupboard

no books on the shelf

no money but time

dreaming up songs that somehow limp back

we laugh together it works sometimes

working hard for hours but it’s a lonely group

something out of nothing that’s how to write songs

it’s always amazing when something happens

& I hear them laughing.