Mighty Mercury

Photographer Richard Peterson worked down the street from City Lights Books in 1976 when the punk revolution first hit San Francisco, and loved hanging out there. "It was a magical place, the Beat history." Self-made publisher V. Vale worked at City Lights then. "Vale always used to direct me to the newest, hippest magazines," Peterson remembers. After receiving a check for $100 from Beat poet Allen Ginsberg and another in the same amount from City Lights'

A rat ran around telling everyone that signs were everywhere, and that they better read them signs.

"Sign sign, everywhere a sign!" he'd protest. "You better read that sign!"

The other animals avoided the rat. He was a pain in the ass. His only friend was a skanky opossum, and they struck a defensive posture when they walked around together.

"Blockin'  the scenery, breakin'  my mind, everywhere a sign!"

He screamed furiously up at an owl. "Imagine-me workin' for you!" he pulled off his cap and revealed unkempt fur that was much longer than most country rodents'.

19

My brother Sam was at the bus terminal, in Denver, to meet me. He gave me a couple of ounces of cocaine so that I could get back on my feet again. He offered to let me stay at his house in the mountains above Boulder. "In fact, I would appreciate it if you would stay there to take care of the house for me, because I hardly ever stay there."

Dark Fills Spaces Left In the Light

Supernovae scream
Across throbbing vastness
Leave like gifts of heaven
The impossible tears of Kali

You had to write a 40-word romance ad for Westword's classified section at the door to get in. There was a free buffet, but the drinks weren't free after all. I stood around smiling stiffly and trying to look inviting, waiting for someone to come up and offer to buy me a drink but no one did.

I can still taste the ocean scent of you in the grimy old sweater I kept when you left me. You wore it sailing that last night, the arms too long, flapping like wings-like laughter-in the breeze. The rough wool trapped my quiet whisper the last time I didn't say ‘I love you,' the last time you never said ‘goodbye.' We swam that night, miles from shore, in the illusory depths of might-could-be; we danced on the shoals of unspoken never-