An unexpectedly somber poem considering how generally pleasant my mood was while writing it. Still, the pedestrian life in Chicago is not to be scoffed at. I love this city, skyscrapers and grey souls, tips and moles.
Loop Jaunt
I misplaced all colors outside of lime,
the way wise men lived off only thyme
while numbering the genders of god in
the wild terrains. I've got my moments.
I tilt as train strains platform.
The smoke this ride cut short
may have killed me, catching
a lift can save your life if you
live recklessly enough. I comb gnats
with my eyelashes, familiar
faces impossible in my craft:
I recognize the drunk in the Sox cap.
Keeping away the secret society blues:
A paper bottle and a bike made of tin foil.
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