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.

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