When Daniel Boone goes by at night The phantom deer arise And all lost, wild America Is burning in their eyes.

Few people have written significant books about San Francisco. Robert Duncan was, in my opinion, often in the clouds. If he walked the streets a lot he didn't write about as such.

We do not fight for the real but for shadows we make. A flag is a piece of cloth and a word is a sound, But we make them something neither cloth nor a sound, Totems of love and hate, black sorcery-stones.

As for what you're calling hard luck - well, we made New England out of it. That and codfish.

One cannot balance tragedy in the scales Unless one weighs it with the tragic heart.

Money is sullen And wisdom is sly, But youth is the pollen That blows through the sky And does not ask why.

Since graveyards are often built over older burial grounds, I assume Dolores Park was probably an Indian, (an Ohlone) graveyard before that. I think the fact that it has so many layers underneath the contemporary one intrigues me.