In the palm of my hand I harborFault lines, one-way streets,A famous bridge half-crossed andAnother I steered from the passenger’s seatWhile the driver smoked weedSuch honking dreams in the patchouli, Of frolicking unhindered, ofSlapping my feet in my Sunday shoesDown my aunt’s hardwood hallway.The earthquakes always come.I’ve cracked off into the ocean. Every day’s dawn yawns a Salty horizon, and the fog rises off the waterAnd the fog rides into town, and the fog bowls me down, And sits on my chest, reading off a checklist of regretsI am so thirstyAnd my irises are turning gray and It never snows in San Francisco no matter whatThe souvenirs say.————————————–Caroljean Gavin called us from Winston-Salem, NC.SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoemshttp://voicemailpoems.org/guidelineshttp://facebook.com/voicemailpoemshttp://twitter.com/voicemailpoemshttp://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast