Tuesday, September 30, 2014

CRANES

Look to the pale east—Chicago
and see

bright red
infrastructure rising in the morning—

wan scratches 
of lakeshore

and slender
white sky—progressively occluded

by
what once 
seemed

swell—
if frivolous
on blue paper.

Now—in such 
grim crowded

correctness 
of weather—progress appears
a little 

swollen—and that red,
quite a bit 

duller.

Monday, September 29, 2014

SUN DRUGS

It seems—by this 
wornout green-
by-burnt-

umber fringe of 
late September—that everything 
must be more 

than a little 
bit tired—or 

else, such slack 
agglomerations as these—

mums and petunias; that brazen
short skirt 
and long oatmeal sweater; 

or even—the whole hazy
conceit of those
two separate 

seasons altogether—simply
wouldn't be able 
to keep themselves 

propped-
up so flimsily—simply by 

leaning dispassionately
back on each other.

Friday, September 26, 2014

DAY 8

But then—
the very next 

day—the sun came again;
yellow 
by 
way 
of burnt orange
by
burst 
of bright born-
again magenta—

and it shone—warm;
the same 
simple perfect 

circle—from the other day.
Only,

now—
little things about the disc
irked him;

the ardor 
such a 
juxtaposition 

of shades seemed to inspire,
and the over-
simplicity 
of the shape—and so on.

And then too—the prodigious  
height 

and weight 
of the very 
thought of

day-after-day 

truly began 
to dawn 
in his mind,

and he suddenly kind-
of wished 

he'd drawn—
the whole dumb thing a little differently.

Thursday, September 25, 2014

DISTILLATION TECHNIQUES

Lately 
it's been awfully
strict

with its urgent—

run!
and cough it up—
quick!

after midnight 
kid!—
and just try

to savor—
now how
the bitter 

taste of recirculation—
doesn't bother
stopping 

to settle-

down on your 
acrid soft 
palate—until after.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

CAUGHT BETWEEN

Like warm 
only wetter—a reared nestling;
the next 

to last one—

headless,
bristling—though no longer 
bedraggled

by foggiest intimations 
of saline bluegray;

its soft fraying spine—
clammy,
primitive,

over-conspicuous—
folded perfectly 

neatly—inside its
gold coffin—this intelligent 

tin—of delicious 
salt brine.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

BARELY

Sweet humid reek
of mellowcreme 

exhaling—orange wax
and honey 

green—from smart
countertop

heaps
out—in the dewy dark kitchen;

By Jove—is it
nearly

Halloween—or almost 
summer?

GAMBIT

All on one side
of me—a hopeless late-
September 

drowsy bee—
woebegone,
gaunt, loopwinging—absolutely must 

keep trilling;
buzzing 
past—the twitching eyeteeth 

of a miscued
mongrel's 
dirty hanging jaws—because 

sometimes 

I guess
the way 
we get by—is simply 

not
by betting on it.

Monday, September 22, 2014

MICKEY MOUSE PANCAKES

Child of the morning—
is there none

of this—
silly strawberry 

bow tie's blithe 
joy in your heart? 
can you see

no point?—not so much as
a hint

of solidity?—even in the most
durable slice 

of golden flecked
toast laid-
out next to me?—rough hewn

and shiny crusted
and gilded in thick jam—and

hot cocoa,
powdered

sugar-dusted
marmalade—potatoes gratin!

or at least—the 
up-curled little 

quiver—of bacon

that signifies the whole
of which 
they know 

you to be capable—not to mention—

like it or not—
all 

that I ever am!

Friday, September 19, 2014

TRUCE

Okay—so then maybe 
he's just

the most charitable kind!
of artist—

one who—often downright 
overripe 

with things to type—
no longer

minds—the quiet 
depravity 

of all these aimless 
and enfeebled 

fruitflies in his kitchenette—

Thursday, September 18, 2014

IN THE TOILET

Whenever—the hard
pushes off

of what's 
soft—that's all

it takes—
to make
your whole day start spinning

around—just like
so many 
timorous cups of bold coffee

preceding—yet another
indefatigably

strong stream
of weak pee.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

ALSO-RAN

Even the warm feel
usually created

in my mouth 
by the word—homemade—

feels chilly
and hard

when compared
to the bright wednesday 

light which—I swear 

is bending 
a little 
more generously

around the two tender 
and feculent men

genially splitting-
up—a dilapidated 

white 
sandwich in the back alley.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

SO LONG, FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT

Suppose—for a moment
Chicago-
land's oldest

facades of ruddy 
brick—

all leaning
chipped 
and gritty—definitely no longer 

pretty 
to see—save maybe 

for 
nearer 

to the hardly-
seen 
bottom of each—

here
and there—a curious 

but inadvertent  
green mossy gully;

suppose—
each 
little dismal

individual brick even!—still
had something 

tough—to say 
about us—

like—I don't 
know
maybe—just

you do what you can.

Monday, September 15, 2014

(I HATE MONDAYS)

Don't even—think
of consecrating 

the idea—by daring
to speak

it—out 
loud 
in cold gloom; 

just—first 
have coffee

alone—in your curtain-
dark
kitchen, 

listen—but distractedly
to blunt piano

chords looming
and 

wreathing—like the steam 
rising-
up from your coffee—

so delicately
all around 
your chintzy clock radio,

and then—finally 
just forget 

whatever 
it is—I was saying.

Saturday, September 13, 2014

NUTS INTO BUTTER

Once—or maybe 
twice
a month—

the everlasting oven-
tree 
of heaven—feels just

heavily
laden enough—
to let go

and—laughing 
drop

down several
common cups—
of its vast

imperial
collection of daybrown—drupes 
for the roasting!

Friday, September 12, 2014

BONY KING OF ELSEWHERE

Biting down—as 
scrupulously  

hard 
as he alone can—

into such nauseatingly 
shiny

stainless steel roasting pans—

he finally 
sees himself

furiously clamped onto leanness—

as perhaps 
the only long

dimension 
of life—thinkingJesus,

such interminable length!—
without any

other real geography—looks dull
and 

tasteless 
as death.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

—OF SEPTEMBER

Sorry—but
all of the 
velvety Bach

chorales—spicy black 
chicory 
coffee—and odd-

scented cigarettes
it could 
possibly muster

just won't keep
a homebody comfy—
when that

first chill!—still arcane 
and divined 

purely
in the abstract—

of winter—nevertheless
first 
dares sneak

inside—to tickle 
his still-
burnt

umber neck
near the middle—

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

STARSTUFF

Glib—tall men 
will all say
on any

old gray day—
cloudy 
and slow

like they know—
and with

with an odd bit
of a glum sort 

of soft jab
to your kid ribs—Eh? Oh! 

The sun!—she
ain't got 

no soul
whatever
today!

But you—
being so 

solicitous—
you'll want 
to know

precisely—who
the hell

are they
from Adam—
to know?

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

HOMEFRIES

Simple—
whenever chips 

are down—you hardly
even have

to call—

in a little 
low-

statured—lost
and found

brown 
dachshund 

or
basset 

or beagle hound—to automatically 
bound 

forward
to vacuum 

the whole complex
and 

wrecked situation
clean off—

the ever-
loving ground.

Monday, September 8, 2014

ONE STEP AWAY FROM THE SHOESHINE

Oh—Although! each
of my blistering 

feet
is so tired—I'll swear I'll keep right

on trying—

to walk 
on the bright side—

because—damn! it's the same
story—beating-

blind rain—
or white nauseous 

sun shining—I've still
got! to keep

getting on top 
of the need to get 

goingin order 
to ensure

the best of my 
stir-

crazy customers—stays completely 
satisfied.

Friday, September 5, 2014

PINK AND WHITE ONES

Even if it's not
the default—let alone

preferred—
there's something 
perfect 

surrounding 
the summer

rain's blithe
aerial 
actualization—of three 

black and 
heretofore in-
authentic

iron fence posts
of words—

wet morning glories!

Thursday, September 4, 2014

LIFE SCIENCE

What abominable manner 
of creature
ithis!—who would dare

to exist? leather-
headed 
mock-tailed—always rushing 

around through thick 
briars in a piss—yet
never quite 

arriving there—
at the end
of his nightmare;

like a edgy wild
rabbit—who nonetheless 
still can't help

constantly 
falling asleep—
and waking up 

trapped inside 
the dim haunted 
mind of a tortoise 

who—himself
feels half-
sure he's—a shell of a hare.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

SYMPATHY FOR THE NEXT DAY

Listen—because right now
the solemn 
popular anthem  

of just
a few—rusted old 
fan blades listlessly turning

and reverberating—softly 
off
these repeating self-

similar cubes—
of itchy pastel cardboard-
bordered

limp plaster peeling—
and sticky brown
and beige-

flecked linoleum
floors and muggy drop-
ceilings—sounds to them

kind of 
all-
like—dang dude!

the second day 
of school—

sure isn't nearly—as cool
as the first.

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

ARGUMENT AGAINST EARBUDS

And to think—
while you were 

out there—
running

this morning—turned inward 
and so 

furious
under the difficult 
green 

canopies of treeleaves—
for something,

from something,
whatever 
it was;

cicadas'—

enduring coming 
and 
going oscillations 

were 
all the while—in alternations
gently

and then 
rather
generously massaging—

whatever sweaty
reasons why
you could have 

possibly offered!

right out of 
thin air—
along with most 

of the humidity.

Monday, September 1, 2014

LACUNAE

Hang loose
glum Chicago—tropical orange 
and yellow 

discreet crews
of workers
have come!—to finally

patch all 
of the sorest 
and dark-

hearted
holes 
in your street—

that is—just
as soon 
as they've labored

in earnest—to 
empty a truck
or two's worth 

of styrofoam 
Dunkin' Donuts
cups—and shelled enough 

David's
sunflower 
seeds—to fill at least 

one of them—
half 
the way up!