Minus Eastern Standard Time
Pacific time eagerly chasing me; old westerly ways battling barefoot, a stand-still eastern jive. So, here's to unconvincing June gloom, creeping chilly night fog, and all of its electrical line tunes - the Santa Anna winds on empty Canerry Row streets, smells of ocean and sounds of seals, all the promises I forget I made. I still miss foggy nights and a chilled-red face, but I can't stop this traveling; I'm overly anxious, in an easterly way.