I sit on
the pavement
outside Era Pharmacy

a poetic hobo (but not
quite of the level
of sensei ninja
Bukowski)

thinking this Women’s Day
of writing (tip-tapping
like a
woodpecker with
an iPhone) a
few lines to
resonate for the
ages with
spiritual sexual
truth

or similar thing
to chime with
the festivities (but

no dancing
in the street, no angelic
or much less than
angelic choir
of female voices
here
to elevate our being)

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