I too have defaced public lavatories,
Scribbled obscene pictograms,
And Initialed furtive theologies
Amid the forlorn **** of washrooms:
Panoplies of God and sex.

And once in San Francisco,
Standing some three floors below Montgomery Street,
I stood holding my jake
Imagining the seventy stories overhead
And the final apocalyptic quake,
Thinking, too, that this is where they'd find me:

An anonymous bog man,
Some fossilized brick,
Surrounded by silenced cries
For love,
Or dick.

I love it.