honking them over
the Harbor Freeway
crossing them over
by San Remo
his warty eyes blinking
in the blinding steel and gas
crawling all day
along the freeway
jamming up the place.
Say, you might read me a passage
from Buk's new book
The Last Night of the Earth . . .
You'd like the feel . . .
the black and red cover . . .
the acid-free paper . . .
