San Francisco is too sad
Time, I cant understand
Fog, shrouds the hills in
Makes unshod feet so cold
Fills black rooms with day
Dayblack in the white windows
And gloom in the pain of pianos:
Shadows in the jazz age
Filing by; ladders of flappers
Painters' white bucket
Funny 3 Stooge Comedies
And fuzzy headed Hero
Moofle Lip suckt it all up
And wondered why
The milk & cream of heaven
Was writ in gold leaf
On a book—big eyes
For the world
The better to see—