Telegraph Hill

I hear the sounds of John Mellencamp

Even though I don’t know him

As the parrots start to sing

Coming alive on Telegraph Hill

The blinding sun on the stark building

Empty along the lines of their nature

The enchantment of red and green

Building the excitements as feathers swarm

The blizzard of hair needing attention

While consuming your fading memory

How can you possibly understand

All the seeds blowing the buildings

That seems so clear moments ago

But your eyes are no longer there

Don’t you see them with the red and green blur

Setting there up on the white house of dreams