Random tone generator on perpetual transceiver broadcast.

Individual ugly sounds exactly at each moment the poet achieves sleep.

Drive-by canisters.

This targeting, drug, and crime kingpin dresses up as a ragged homeless man, puts himself in the poet’s pathway, and hangs out right in public.

He’s been seen twice at the Tower complex she deprives by every morning, and twice at the Folsom Blvd. CVS at which she picks up her heart medicine.

Laughing at the law, which looks right past him.

But then ~ he’s been doing that for a very, very long time.