Written on an L-train in Chicago
|Thought’s Of Chicago
Drudges of the Palace. We skipped the stones to the gates. Rode the Iron Lady. Bought my ticket. Took the ride. My toes are touching the pages. Dip the quill in the creativity well. Been coming out with black ink. Sometimes blue. How about something in a nice shade of enlightened love? Tweak and Peak and I let leather girl come out to play.
She said, “ I’m gonna fuck ‘em all.” And so it was done. Structured spontaneity. We plan to control the ebb and flow of wet ideas. Poetry this year has been like acne. It will fester to the skin. Become too sore to hold and then burst through the flesh and spray across my reflection in the mirror. Yeah. Poems are like zits. 372-6219 1024 Eureka 323-8243. Dunno.
My Mama. Straight-up and stirred, but not shaken. The observant Rogue. Watching for the normal light district to let her in. If your feet are clean she’ll let you come sit at her table. No tea for you, but she will pass out scripts. Note: that you crack during interrogation on page 13.
It’s not a very beautiful day. What neighborhood is this anyway? I think I’m gonna kiss a snowflake. I’ll make-out with the wind. Lie submissively beneath the clouds. Make love to my day. I’m quite a prude to the anima. But I’m a lush and a whore for my animus. All this is beautiful. Divine. Choosing to be here in…Maybe I would have walked away by now. From it all. Even a drunkard soul-mate is better than dead. Right?
Everything is taller here. Like, an entire nation trying so desperately to remove itself from the planet. Banners of blatant refusal to tread upon the Earth. Block the cloud coverage overhead. Succeed to live as far away from the surface as possible. I’ll be damned if I have to come anywhere near it even to travel across it. Violators. Every time. She goes way. This city inflicts you with its identity constantly. A barrage of title.
An old room in an old hospital. Year- The year of their Lord, 1956. (Something about -boys in sweaters.) 19 years later. Same room. Same nurse: Sept 28, 1974. My most significant experience in life I was spared the memory of. I think it was most like the speeding pressing, roaring route through a train tunnel.
If I were rich, I’d get in a lot of trouble for smoking in public.
“This is Chicago. This is Grand”
Cities In Dust . A legion of trust. The way a boys eyes light up when he sees weapons. I explained ritual magic and the symbolism of horns and the importance of guiding souls. Teaching my kin. Keeping the truth alive. Keeping God’s alive inside my kin’s children’s inner conscience.