qubit coupling

in old town , sun's goin down
and the big columns of the finance center
begin to glow like a colluseum's hologram. you say
well i didn't get the tickets but there might
be some available. sold out it says on the box office
but you're staying positive. i'm lookin out the window
at the early evening. old man in a dapper
suit, brylcreamed hair--his own--begins to cross at first count
he's running, he's all out, he's hitting
about 2 inches per second. at this rate you
might have to run him over. guy in a segue rolls into the cross
walk and escorts him for a couple minutes then
gets off and lets the old man drive. consternation then joy
from the wind's twelve countdown numbers. he's safely across. we
roll on
to the backside of posh restuarants down the next street. busboy, dishwasher, sou chef, chief
doctor get me a cleaver for this side of beef. kegger roll into a dim doorway
cute guy in a red t shirt and cargo shorts. i watch . reminds me of a last lover, past
lover. too young but ummm. we roll
on to the free parking by the library, beside the gold domed
st francis of asissi catholic church, across the street
from the 20's bandshell bordering lake eola
where the lights on the fountain in the middle of the lake
are just coming on , their reflections
in the dusklined water like paths which swans of
peddle power boat type ride. in the sky
a powdering of blue and pink clouds
like baby dreams of the peddlers
romantic between the long wooden S necks
like some tale disney cooked up before
he was cryogenically frozen into a mouse cartoon
manufacturing money more real
than any of his themes could dream of becoming.
but the swans are nicely framed. dogs
on chains stroll owners over the sidewalk which as i recall
encircles the lake like a utilitarian shen.

as we pull up to the meter. st francis's stained
glass face is barely visible, and st. mary's recongized
by her veil. the lights inside the church
haven't come on. you try to feed the meter while doing the potty dance
but a man walking into the church doors says they don't
check the meters now. relief floods
your face. i seriously gotta go you plead.
the library looks like it's still open. we have to go
around the block to the front. i can see
you're in agony, look there's a bar
we could go there. no, you decide , let's try free.
but it's after six. the doors are open and we walk past the book
scanner but a woman with a librarian's demeanor
kindly shoos us away despite the crossed leg pantomime. she knows
all the tricks because the bus station is right outside
the west end of the library. we hustle
across to the bar. you go first and i order a shot of tequila.
when you come out you say there's no toilet paper.
i wait till there is , you get a chivas on the rox, the place begins
to fill, there's guitar paintings on the wall, joan jett on the juke and poison
on the mtv. how did they get mtv? didn't it die once?
i grab a lime from the bartray, look around for salt.
none. i raise the glass for a sip
a guy in a red t shirt resembling a recent love
is suddenly beside me says woah a shot/
someone's in a hurry tonite.
yeah i say and point to you. she wants to see if she can get tix.
we chit chat a bit , he's all cute n stuff and i think
if i were not such a geek we could
find out where's there best thai in this town. sadly
freak is tuff to hide. we leave but not before
i remember mr toad's wild ride. cuz we still haven't talked.
it might be fun. and even later i geek out
and even later is becomes so difficult to feel any postitive
movement in this night. the food is bad, this fool is sad
but the singer's up on stage covering
and i'm all about sitting on this patio eating over peppered strir fry
in lieu of what i set my taste on. you just want coffee
and desert. so we wander
past an empty corner where tile from a building long torn
down for urban renewal crumbles into emblem for battle field so right on
cue
dude emerges from between some restorable derelect buildings
punching not only the sky but the column of space
between him and the ground, him and the wall, let's just say
if air was flesh it would be blacker than blue. i grab you
before you can walk over to him, cuz here comes the segue dude
not the old guy, the cop, wearing the helmet. he herds
the street guy right along to god knows where and we're on the opposite
corner watching along with two girls from the new volcano
coffee shop with smoothie samples and chocolate bits talking live
music and no cover, come wake up. this is your night.
red shirt dude is doubtless at work and besides
i'm not about back seating or back streeting unless you want
to duck behind the tree on the construction site next
to the st. francis' place, i think we can light this bone safe there.