Oct. 29, 2012
Haiku #3: I Love Lost
Sawyer's great, Jack, too,
But I think we all agree
We all want more Kate.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Three Wishes
Oct. 28, 2012
Three Wishes
I wish I wrote like Billy Joel,
could low his full toned notes
and sing about a steady sadness,
but he eludes me,
and my words tend to smile.
I wish I had all the money in the world!
I'd bury it in the moon
so everyone could dream
of buried treasure
when they fell asleep at night.
I wish I were a vine,
a kudzu vine,
With my feet in the earth
and my sprawling self
spread across the world,
soaking up the sun
at every given moment.
Three Wishes
I wish I wrote like Billy Joel,
could low his full toned notes
and sing about a steady sadness,
but he eludes me,
and my words tend to smile.
I wish I had all the money in the world!
I'd bury it in the moon
so everyone could dream
of buried treasure
when they fell asleep at night.
I wish I were a vine,
a kudzu vine,
With my feet in the earth
and my sprawling self
spread across the world,
soaking up the sun
at every given moment.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Chorus in Need of a Song
Oct. 27, 2012 (One to grow on!)
Chorus in Need of a Song
Oh,
Oh my soul,
Fallen soul,
We have touched
and now I've lost control,
Lost control,
Fallen soul.
Chorus in Need of a Song
Oh,
Oh my soul,
Fallen soul,
We have touched
and now I've lost control,
Lost control,
Fallen soul.
Satisfaction
Oct. 27, 2012
Satisfaction
It's remarkable,
impossible to find
as long as you're lookin'.
So I'll give you some tips.
Satisfaction is a subtle bliss,
the milk of human kindness,
That rare elixir we read about
in books by dusty old men.
You can taste it,
savor it
in the beer that saves a bad day,
in the air of your free time,
in the kiss of that girl,
that girl with the smiling eyes
that you can never get enough of.
Don't look for it.
It hides like the snake in the grass,
leaping up to bite at a chance step,
and though it may frighten,
the venom will ease,
sending you to a sleep
with dreams
you never knew you'd have.
Satisfaction
It's remarkable,
impossible to find
as long as you're lookin'.
So I'll give you some tips.
Satisfaction is a subtle bliss,
the milk of human kindness,
That rare elixir we read about
in books by dusty old men.
You can taste it,
savor it
in the beer that saves a bad day,
in the air of your free time,
in the kiss of that girl,
that girl with the smiling eyes
that you can never get enough of.
Don't look for it.
It hides like the snake in the grass,
leaping up to bite at a chance step,
and though it may frighten,
the venom will ease,
sending you to a sleep
with dreams
you never knew you'd have.
When You Feel Rushed...
Oct. 26, 2012
When You Feel Rushed...
Watch the trees.
They have no care for dates
but flow through the years,
enduring ages without worry.
Before the minutes were measured,
before the days were timed,
They sprang from the Earth
and lived.
Watch the trees.
They calm me,
remind me
before the watch
and year
and time,
Everything still was.
When You Feel Rushed...
Watch the trees.
They have no care for dates
but flow through the years,
enduring ages without worry.
Before the minutes were measured,
before the days were timed,
They sprang from the Earth
and lived.
Watch the trees.
They calm me,
remind me
before the watch
and year
and time,
Everything still was.
Silence on a Train
Oct. 25, 2012
Silence on a Train (Yay! More Train Poems!)
There's an astounding silence on a train,
floating between the dozens of people per car.
Crowded day
and we're shoulder to shoulder,
Sharing the air unwillingly
with moms
with dads,
sisters and brothers,
hundreds of relations
we can't begin to unravel.
We bunch like birds,
standing lock-kneed,
doubling over in chairs,
killing ourselves to keep from touching.
Everyone holds their breath
against each other,
The bizarre social circumstance of strangers.
A passenger lets his skateboard drop
KA-KLACK!
The whole car jumps,
save for a few deafened veterans.
The boarder just smiles
and hops off at the next stop,
leaving us with our dying laughter
as the silence resets itself
and gains control again.
Silence on a Train (Yay! More Train Poems!)
There's an astounding silence on a train,
floating between the dozens of people per car.
Crowded day
and we're shoulder to shoulder,
Sharing the air unwillingly
with moms
with dads,
sisters and brothers,
hundreds of relations
we can't begin to unravel.
We bunch like birds,
standing lock-kneed,
doubling over in chairs,
killing ourselves to keep from touching.
Everyone holds their breath
against each other,
The bizarre social circumstance of strangers.
A passenger lets his skateboard drop
KA-KLACK!
The whole car jumps,
save for a few deafened veterans.
The boarder just smiles
and hops off at the next stop,
leaving us with our dying laughter
as the silence resets itself
and gains control again.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Love Song for a Pennsylvania Girl
Oct. 24, 2012
Love Song for a Pennsylvania Girl
Before I drift to sleep tonight,
I'll tell you 'bout a girl,
the Pennsylvania girl.
There the wind runs cool
over the mountain roads,
sighing over the snow covered hills,
whispering in the firs,
a deep breathing kind of air,
filling the lungs with grey skies.
That air was first to give her life,
the Pennsylvania girl,
Taught her fast
the strength of the North,
Taught her the taste
of good earth on her tongue.
You can see it in her eyes,
the cold,
see the struggle to survive,
unbreakable grey-blue eyes
to freeze you fast,
command you still
before her.
I've never seen her home,
the Pennsylvania girl,
But I see her strolling 'twixt the trees,
pushing aside snow laden limbs,
Her body
cloaked in fur and denim,
Warming up the forest with a smile,
Hair collecting snowflakes,
anointing her in frost,
glowing heavenly white.
I left her on a porch.
The Greeks would build her temples,
and I left her on a porch,
turned her into a memory,
my favorite dream,
the Pennsylvania girl.
Love Song for a Pennsylvania Girl
Before I drift to sleep tonight,
I'll tell you 'bout a girl,
the Pennsylvania girl.
There the wind runs cool
over the mountain roads,
sighing over the snow covered hills,
whispering in the firs,
a deep breathing kind of air,
filling the lungs with grey skies.
That air was first to give her life,
the Pennsylvania girl,
Taught her fast
the strength of the North,
Taught her the taste
of good earth on her tongue.
You can see it in her eyes,
the cold,
see the struggle to survive,
unbreakable grey-blue eyes
to freeze you fast,
command you still
before her.
I've never seen her home,
the Pennsylvania girl,
But I see her strolling 'twixt the trees,
pushing aside snow laden limbs,
Her body
cloaked in fur and denim,
Warming up the forest with a smile,
Hair collecting snowflakes,
anointing her in frost,
glowing heavenly white.
I left her on a porch.
The Greeks would build her temples,
and I left her on a porch,
turned her into a memory,
my favorite dream,
the Pennsylvania girl.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Nocturnal
Oct. 23, 2012
Nocturnal
I've gone nocturnal,
flitting back and forth like a moth.
At night I'm alive,
swimming through the dark,
brushing wings with my fellow nighthawks,
each of us patrolling the moonlight
to spare the Men of day.
We fight away nightmares,
making sure the world still turns
while no one is looking,
and at dawn we hand the reins
to the morning shift,
landing on early trains
and beds
and loaned love seats,
resting 'til the sun cools down
and the day seeks relief.
Nocturnal
I've gone nocturnal,
flitting back and forth like a moth.
At night I'm alive,
swimming through the dark,
brushing wings with my fellow nighthawks,
each of us patrolling the moonlight
to spare the Men of day.
We fight away nightmares,
making sure the world still turns
while no one is looking,
and at dawn we hand the reins
to the morning shift,
landing on early trains
and beds
and loaned love seats,
resting 'til the sun cools down
and the day seeks relief.
Haiku #2: Flowers on the Fence
Oct. 22, 2012
Haiku #2: Flowers on the Fence
Flowers on the fence
Choking chain links with their stems,
Fighting to survive.
Haiku #2: Flowers on the Fence
Flowers on the fence
Choking chain links with their stems,
Fighting to survive.
Haiku #1: Masterful Poets
Oct. 21, 2012
Haiku #1: Masterful Poets
Masterful poets
Sculpted simple words from thoughts,
Made the first haikus.
Haiku #1: Masterful Poets
Masterful poets
Sculpted simple words from thoughts,
Made the first haikus.
Scottish Infection
Oct. 20, 2012
Scottish Infection
Last night,
I was infected
by a Scottish beat.
My blood's been pumped
with northerly winds,
and the only time I can keep
is a steady
la-la-la-la,
a thrilling dash
through the hills,
bounding over cool stone,
frosted by the snow,
digging my feet into
frozen turf,
the pounding of my heart
the only thing to keep me warm.
Every breath is laced with winter,
smells of ancient earth
filling my nostrils,
in my sweat,
a good sweat,
cooling off the skin.
I'm delirious,
my eyes blurred by visions,
strong women and men,
brusque and beautiful.
Scottish Infection
Last night,
I was infected
by a Scottish beat.
My blood's been pumped
with northerly winds,
and the only time I can keep
is a steady
la-la-la-la,
a thrilling dash
through the hills,
bounding over cool stone,
frosted by the snow,
digging my feet into
frozen turf,
the pounding of my heart
the only thing to keep me warm.
Every breath is laced with winter,
smells of ancient earth
filling my nostrils,
in my sweat,
a good sweat,
cooling off the skin.
I'm delirious,
my eyes blurred by visions,
strong women and men,
brusque and beautiful.
A Random Sighting with Sleep in My Eyes #1
Oct. 19, 2012
A Random Sighting with Sleep in My Eyes #1
Grey spotted dog on the roof!
He snuck on through an unlocked door
that Juan left open
when he went to lunch.
First the snout peeks out,
a nostril radar:
What's this place, huh?
It's warm,
that's nice
BUT WAIT
What's that
I saw it move
It moved
I saw!
He creeps out and bares a little teeth
at a wind blown garbage bag,
But when it doesn't jump him,
he pads slowly out into the sun,
tilting his ears to the sound of traffic,
finally finds a corner
and tucks himself inside it,
smiling a wet pink mouth
and showing his tummy to the sky.
A Random Sighting with Sleep in My Eyes #1
Grey spotted dog on the roof!
He snuck on through an unlocked door
that Juan left open
when he went to lunch.
First the snout peeks out,
a nostril radar:
What's this place, huh?
It's warm,
that's nice
BUT WAIT
What's that
I saw it move
It moved
I saw!
He creeps out and bares a little teeth
at a wind blown garbage bag,
But when it doesn't jump him,
he pads slowly out into the sun,
tilting his ears to the sound of traffic,
finally finds a corner
and tucks himself inside it,
smiling a wet pink mouth
and showing his tummy to the sky.
Running Late
Oct. 18, 2012
Running Late
Shit.
Shitting shit shit.
No time to brush
or wash
or floss,
Just slap-dash pack
and out the door,
Losing too many minutes
even with just that!
Every second counts,
and they've all gotten shorter
Out running me
as we both race to work,
or play,
or date and play.
Rush past all niceties and manners,
push out everyone else
with their own times
and dates
and deadlines
and go,
lashing myself to fervor,
the whip in my right hand.
Running Late
Shit.
Shitting shit shit.
No time to brush
or wash
or floss,
Just slap-dash pack
and out the door,
Losing too many minutes
even with just that!
Every second counts,
and they've all gotten shorter
Out running me
as we both race to work,
or play,
or date and play.
Rush past all niceties and manners,
push out everyone else
with their own times
and dates
and deadlines
and go,
lashing myself to fervor,
the whip in my right hand.
An Uncomfortable Search
Oct. 17, 2012
An Uncomfortable Search
Search me,
officer.
That's what he said,
with regular fiery looks in his eyes,
his bag on the ground,
his hands at his thighs
in tight fists.
We're on the side road,
by a K-Mart,
a couple of miles from home.
We were all business,
a regular routine stop,
a warning kind of occassion,
so I thought,
yet we've been stopped for a search,
irregular,
uncomfortable.
Officer Jackson,
leaning through the window,
Why are you uncomfortable,
he asks.
I'd like a cigarette,
says my passenger.
Door opens.
DON'T DO THAT!
Get back in the car!
Why are you uncomfortable?
He says,
I have anxiety.
Search me, officer.
He takes me aside,
Officer Thomson,
Is he hiding something?
You're liable,
and why,
is he uncomfortable?
Passenger door,
Do I need to search your bag?
Here it is,
he says,
lets it fall to the ground.
Search me,
officer.
Comes back to me,
Officer Monroe,
So,
Why is he uncomfortable?
Sir,
He' just uncomfortable.
And that was that,
we drove away,
myself disturbed,
my passenger
uncomfortable.
An Uncomfortable Search
Search me,
officer.
That's what he said,
with regular fiery looks in his eyes,
his bag on the ground,
his hands at his thighs
in tight fists.
We're on the side road,
by a K-Mart,
a couple of miles from home.
We were all business,
a regular routine stop,
a warning kind of occassion,
so I thought,
yet we've been stopped for a search,
irregular,
uncomfortable.
Officer Jackson,
leaning through the window,
Why are you uncomfortable,
he asks.
I'd like a cigarette,
says my passenger.
Door opens.
DON'T DO THAT!
Get back in the car!
Why are you uncomfortable?
He says,
I have anxiety.
Search me, officer.
He takes me aside,
Officer Thomson,
Is he hiding something?
You're liable,
and why,
is he uncomfortable?
Passenger door,
Do I need to search your bag?
Here it is,
he says,
lets it fall to the ground.
Search me,
officer.
Comes back to me,
Officer Monroe,
So,
Why is he uncomfortable?
Sir,
He' just uncomfortable.
And that was that,
we drove away,
myself disturbed,
my passenger
uncomfortable.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
A Warm Day Between Cold Spells
Oct. 16, 2012
A Warm Day Between Cold Spells
A warm day in October
on the shores of Lake Michigan.
Timid townies peep out their dors,
waiting for a frigid wind
to blow down the day.
But for once,
the wind is still.
It's a miracle!
And suddenly the doors burst open,
windows nearly broken
In a mad rush outdoors.
Children stare agape
as all their parents
peel off their coats,
start dancing in the warm sunlight.
The air is filled with stained glass shards,
yellow-red-gold
still clinging to the trees,
Catching the sun,
refracting it
millions of billions of ways,
'til the Tuesday atmosphere
is all color
and dance.
A Warm Day Between Cold Spells
A warm day in October
on the shores of Lake Michigan.
Timid townies peep out their dors,
waiting for a frigid wind
to blow down the day.
But for once,
the wind is still.
It's a miracle!
And suddenly the doors burst open,
windows nearly broken
In a mad rush outdoors.
Children stare agape
as all their parents
peel off their coats,
start dancing in the warm sunlight.
The air is filled with stained glass shards,
yellow-red-gold
still clinging to the trees,
Catching the sun,
refracting it
millions of billions of ways,
'til the Tuesday atmosphere
is all color
and dance.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Watching Others on the Train
Oct. 15, 2012
Watching Others on the Train
Watching others
watching others,
Watching others on the train.
A grey haired man
plays with his fingers,
Reads the texts
of a tired Korean woman sitting next to him.
Across from her
is a Mexican mother,
Making faces at her daughter,
laughter in the arms of her father,
brother sulking in the corner,
watching others,
watching others.
A grey hooded man sleeps
with his hands in his pockets,
dreams of thick jackets,
While a woman with a rosary
hums a hymn
and rocks herself to sleep.
Favored past time for city couples,
silent smiling lips,
inches apart,
subtle points from fingertips
flick from him,
to her,
to me,
sitting back two rows,
watching others
watching others on the train.
Watching Others on the Train
Watching others
watching others,
Watching others on the train.
A grey haired man
plays with his fingers,
Reads the texts
of a tired Korean woman sitting next to him.
Across from her
is a Mexican mother,
Making faces at her daughter,
laughter in the arms of her father,
brother sulking in the corner,
watching others,
watching others.
A grey hooded man sleeps
with his hands in his pockets,
dreams of thick jackets,
While a woman with a rosary
hums a hymn
and rocks herself to sleep.
Favored past time for city couples,
silent smiling lips,
inches apart,
subtle points from fingertips
flick from him,
to her,
to me,
sitting back two rows,
watching others
watching others on the train.
Oct. 14, 2012
Graffiti Bandit
There's a graffiti bandit on the Pink Line.
They say he only strikes at night,
clad in black,
a prowling wildcat of a man,
carving his signature into the walls and windows
from Clinton down to Cicero.
A bounty's on his head,
a hundred grand!
For anyone who can catch
this dreaded fiend.
I saw him once.
I was sitting,
shivering in the wind
atop the California stop,
my arms splayed back to prop me up,
When quiet as a cat
a man crept up
And traced my hand
with a navy blue crayon.
He tossed me a wink,
and scratched a hasty
"J.T."
on the seat next to me,
Before he leapt across the rails
and danced away along the rooftops.
Graffiti Bandit
There's a graffiti bandit on the Pink Line.
They say he only strikes at night,
clad in black,
a prowling wildcat of a man,
carving his signature into the walls and windows
from Clinton down to Cicero.
A bounty's on his head,
a hundred grand!
For anyone who can catch
this dreaded fiend.
I saw him once.
I was sitting,
shivering in the wind
atop the California stop,
my arms splayed back to prop me up,
When quiet as a cat
a man crept up
And traced my hand
with a navy blue crayon.
He tossed me a wink,
and scratched a hasty
"J.T."
on the seat next to me,
Before he leapt across the rails
and danced away along the rooftops.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
My Dogs are Barkin'!
Oct. 13, 2012
My Dogs are Barkin'!
When you're on your feet as much as me,
you start to know this feeling,
Like your bones will
CRACK 'n SNAP in half
at any step you take.
Know what I mean?
Good.
So,
I was headin' home last night,
strollin' California in Little Mexico,
When
CRACK 'n SNAP
go the bones in my shoes,
My arches shuddered
'n collapsed flat,
And down I rolled
With a WHUMP,
landing with my back against
a tiny,
single table taqueria.
My poor dogs let out a howl of pain,
so loud they woke the neighbors.
Out of the house steps this sweet abuela,
grey haired
with skin wrinkled as a husk of corn,
tanned a leathery brown.
Eh Gringo!
Your howling woke me up,
so keep it down!
I've got seven mouths to feed at morning,
and I'm frying 'til the night!
I said,
Abuela,
Perdoname, perdoname,
but a ten hour day
for ninety dollars
is enough to make any dog cry.
She stepped my way,
CRACK 'n SNAP
And she went down!
I caught her in my arms
to the sound of her feet how-howlin',
neighbors screaming out
all down the street,
but we just laughed,
and wept,
and shared,
me on ticket sales,
her on empanadas,
and the shores of Mexico.
My Dogs are Barkin'!
When you're on your feet as much as me,
you start to know this feeling,
Like your bones will
CRACK 'n SNAP in half
at any step you take.
Know what I mean?
Good.
So,
I was headin' home last night,
strollin' California in Little Mexico,
When
CRACK 'n SNAP
go the bones in my shoes,
My arches shuddered
'n collapsed flat,
And down I rolled
With a WHUMP,
landing with my back against
a tiny,
single table taqueria.
My poor dogs let out a howl of pain,
so loud they woke the neighbors.
Out of the house steps this sweet abuela,
grey haired
with skin wrinkled as a husk of corn,
tanned a leathery brown.
Eh Gringo!
Your howling woke me up,
so keep it down!
I've got seven mouths to feed at morning,
and I'm frying 'til the night!
I said,
Abuela,
Perdoname, perdoname,
but a ten hour day
for ninety dollars
is enough to make any dog cry.
She stepped my way,
CRACK 'n SNAP
And she went down!
I caught her in my arms
to the sound of her feet how-howlin',
neighbors screaming out
all down the street,
but we just laughed,
and wept,
and shared,
me on ticket sales,
her on empanadas,
and the shores of Mexico.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Oct. 12, 2012
Shoreline
We're on the pier,
No one about
but the Rip Van Winkle guard,
permanently napping at his post,
crosswords clutched in his hand.
Looking inland,
We see the great meeting of the seas,
One of earth,
lapping up against the land,
receding to the depths,
And one of man,
solid tides rippling skyward,
glittering steel and glass waves
frozen in the air
as they slam against the lake shore.
There's a path that runs between them,
and we share it single file,
you and me,
longboarding between the shores
of earth and man.
Shoreline
We're on the pier,
No one about
but the Rip Van Winkle guard,
permanently napping at his post,
crosswords clutched in his hand.
Looking inland,
We see the great meeting of the seas,
One of earth,
lapping up against the land,
receding to the depths,
And one of man,
solid tides rippling skyward,
glittering steel and glass waves
frozen in the air
as they slam against the lake shore.
There's a path that runs between them,
and we share it single file,
you and me,
longboarding between the shores
of earth and man.
Observing Harold in Flight
Oct. 11, 2012
Observing Harold in Flight
Consider Harold and his life.
Harold's life's in flight,
cut cutting
thrust thrusting through the air
like a swan,
stream lined
and rocket fueled.
Harold flies so fast,
Faster than sound and light
'til everything dissolves around him.
He's just a speck of light,
a star until he supernovas.
And all the while Harold's zooming,
all the other stars are shooting,
and down below them all
spins the perfect perch,
round and wet
with plenty of spots in the shade.
Observing Harold in Flight
Consider Harold and his life.
Harold's life's in flight,
cut cutting
thrust thrusting through the air
like a swan,
stream lined
and rocket fueled.
Harold flies so fast,
Faster than sound and light
'til everything dissolves around him.
He's just a speck of light,
a star until he supernovas.
And all the while Harold's zooming,
all the other stars are shooting,
and down below them all
spins the perfect perch,
round and wet
with plenty of spots in the shade.
A Ladder on Michigan Avenue
Oct. 10, 2012
A Ladder on Michigan Avenue
A ladder leans against a scraper
planted along Michigan Avenue.
The rungs splintered long ago,
coarse,
brown wood swelling up beneath the bolts,
time tearing through the boards.
The concrete tower shoots up to the clouds,
but
her golden foundations tarnish,
and the fire escapes succumb
to rust.
A Ladder on Michigan Avenue
A ladder leans against a scraper
planted along Michigan Avenue.
The rungs splintered long ago,
coarse,
brown wood swelling up beneath the bolts,
time tearing through the boards.
The concrete tower shoots up to the clouds,
but
her golden foundations tarnish,
and the fire escapes succumb
to rust.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Oct. 9, 2012
To a Stranger Recently Deceased
I was wondering if you smoked.
It's my preferred form of self-destruction,
and more fun with a friend.
You took the fast route
while I'm trudging slowly towards the goal,
a cool spot in the earth.
I was hoping to sit and chat
in broken Spanish,
garbling our way through introductions,
sifting our way to the heart of our words.
Interesting thing,
people meeting people.
It's souls meeting souls,
miracles meeting miracles.
We met once,
just once,
an anomaly of chance
hours before your last breath.
Who's to say
random
isn't
miraculous?
To a Stranger Recently Deceased
I was wondering if you smoked.
It's my preferred form of self-destruction,
and more fun with a friend.
You took the fast route
while I'm trudging slowly towards the goal,
a cool spot in the earth.
I was hoping to sit and chat
in broken Spanish,
garbling our way through introductions,
sifting our way to the heart of our words.
Interesting thing,
people meeting people.
It's souls meeting souls,
miracles meeting miracles.
We met once,
just once,
an anomaly of chance
hours before your last breath.
Who's to say
random
isn't
miraculous?
Monday, October 8, 2012
Oct. 8, 2012
When I Shared a Cigarette #1
Northern skies shine,
crisp on a Sunday morning.
In the grass by my bare feet,
A lame grasshopper struggles through the lawn,
hobbling his way to the sidewalk,
his left leg pinched off by Fate,
A weathered old man
who's seen better days.
He reaches the pavement,
pops a squat,
and I scooch over
to give him some room.
He's about the size of my cigarette butt,
so I pinch off a scrap of tobacco to share.
He lights it up gratefully.
I ask him,
"How'd you lose the leg?"
He takes a drag.
"Fuckin' sparrow.
Clipped me over on Damen.
Never saw him comin'.
Not so bad,
really,
but haven't gone hoppin' since.
Thanks for the smoke."
He stumbles on his way,
and I do my best
to brush away the marching ants
hot on his trail.
When I Shared a Cigarette #1
Northern skies shine,
crisp on a Sunday morning.
In the grass by my bare feet,
A lame grasshopper struggles through the lawn,
hobbling his way to the sidewalk,
his left leg pinched off by Fate,
A weathered old man
who's seen better days.
He reaches the pavement,
pops a squat,
and I scooch over
to give him some room.
He's about the size of my cigarette butt,
so I pinch off a scrap of tobacco to share.
He lights it up gratefully.
I ask him,
"How'd you lose the leg?"
He takes a drag.
"Fuckin' sparrow.
Clipped me over on Damen.
Never saw him comin'.
Not so bad,
really,
but haven't gone hoppin' since.
Thanks for the smoke."
He stumbles on his way,
and I do my best
to brush away the marching ants
hot on his trail.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Oct. 7, 2012
A Poem after Four Weeks in Town
Life's happening in Chicago.
The air may be cold,
but it breathes the same.
Neon shining skies
still hold the moon.
The streets run empty at midnight,
and tomatoes grow in the garden,
curling through the cool.
People still smile
when they don't know the words to say
"Hello"
Trying Again
A few years ago, I tried an experiment where I attempted to write one poem each day for a year. I made it from May to November, I think, and while I may have failed to meet my 365 goal I did thrive off the constant creative challenge.
I'm going to give it another go.
Background on the time lapse: I've recently moved from college town and fantasy wonderland that is Athens, Georgia, to the train roaring streets of Chicago. No more school. Mainly just living now.
Thanks for reading. Did you know it's good for you now?
I'm going to give it another go.
Background on the time lapse: I've recently moved from college town and fantasy wonderland that is Athens, Georgia, to the train roaring streets of Chicago. No more school. Mainly just living now.
Thanks for reading. Did you know it's good for you now?
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