Report 05/31/2021

Rainy day spent applying for jobs, writing, and listening to an audiobook. The result was the following report, prepared in verse for your inspection. 

Revival Jam 

I smell what died bowling up my throat,

but I can't identify it. Which way did the critter

crawl up, and when? Disicisions, diristions, 

sweetcake, my heartache, since we've been parted

my moral compass is hurtling while my labido is 

swollen all the while what's passed is wafting a parade. 

My internal organs have rendered the source

unidentifiable, but undeniably my own, gasping

and signaling me out for proclamations from

the goddamn feds, either pay my rent or get out!

I'm too busy attempting to dismantle the system

you swore to protect, in between laps of judgement. 

Quelled but never abated. Satisfied while ever frustrated. 

Repressed, I reek to make heaven like unto me.   

Wading for Gold: 05/30/2021

My sincere apologies for not writing. One of my best friends is moving to the city, and I am thrilled. We spent all of yesterday celebrating the cold Chicago summer and a long time dream slowly but firmly becoming a reality.  

Hidden Soup and Salad (For AH) 

If a prospector never finds gold they

demote to poet and their skin appears

green when seen underwater. 

Prospect for gold and never eat fruit: 

scurvy gifts poetry. Skin tints green once

exposed to water. You and I, we always

say the same thing twice because

we are near identical. Blighted different

but both heartless, ashen compassion

soaked in Christlike whipping of the

miserly. Pius in our crawlspace worship. 

I love you rainier than summer.  

Fowl Omen: Poem 05/28/2021

Grey Birds, Sky Likewise 

Perpetual chalk swaddles the city. 

During my smoke break I bore witness

to one pigeon using another as trampoline,

jumping atop and accordioning the fellow

bird into the pavement. 

What to make of this fowl omen? 

The rotund, sickly grounded animal,

mounted repeatedly, bulge ballooning 

eyes round enough to eat a child. 

Nineteen hours later I plopped back

into unemployment. Farewell to that mocking

museum beneath the Green Line, farwell fickle

loop, your pallor storms and Athenian libraries. 

I hope someone thought to chalk a halo 

about that blighted bird. 

Error 5/27/2021

Sorry for not posting a proper poem. 

Worthwhile Excuse 

Old friend came to visit,

cut into my heart - 

and my writing time. 

Dozy: Poem 05/25/2021

Yonder Dozy Vision 

Sunder steeds trample the steeples,

dodging crackling Jove bolts immolating

the remaining village green. 

Smolder, emblems of valor and virtue. 

Hierophants have need of the flames. 

Pius schools may be grateful our uncanniest 

soothsayings may not pass in time.    

Bells rung thus have soiled fragile wings 

of the forest mares, conjoined insects into 

centipedes, carnivorous bivouacs

housing million of enemies. 

Where once was a community, 

signals and principals, 

I see only little libraries, 

apolitical worms munching on crosshairs.  

Splash Zone: Poem 05/24/2021

Muggy day here in Chicago. Summer has finally found the backyard. 

Lazy River Turned Violent 

Reef between ship and shore, hours in the day

indifferent, bloated and yellow with well wishes. 

Thrash a while and the eels come, 

where once was silence only their song

cuts the waves. Still your limbs and 

listen to their feasting celebration,

free your lungs to sing poseidon's praises.  

Not every verse receives applause beneath the waves. 

Two Duds: Poems 05/23/2021

Quick Bop 

Upstream trudge, worry

rock in pocket singing about you. 

Slide guitar. 

Poem About a Rainstorm that Never Occurred 

Rain taunted me all day. 

Unhinged filibuster afternoon 

would have striped syrup from the plates, 

soiled the billfolds of aspiring, clueless kids

who pass their best years in places like

this. I'm all for the torrents and blithering

porridge - shower silverware upon our final

spring morning.   

Coin Flip: Poem 05/22/2021

Dreamy (but clammy) early Summer day. Worked and wrote, talked and smoked. 

As 

Below 

Perhaps I left the blender on indefinitely. Vortex 

purring in place of my heart. I unplugged so many

things after you left I must have forgot. 

Above  

Dismiss the deacons before the disciples.   

I swim here crosseyed, hours waiting for

translation from on high... I hum

the peasant children's favorite hymns while

they smolder, melodies I taught myself and thus

to them. Children: " 'I bathe while your schools 

burn' amen". Tomorrow they will build a statue of me. 

Kitten Peepers: Poem 05/21/2021

War on Summer Update: A mild day, though I have so far managed to keep out of the sun. This feels like a tease, a breezy reprieve before the sweltering sets in.

Isle of Farewells 

Every lighter I misplace is out to get me. 

A coalition aflame beneath my bed, or 

worse yet eying the books. I wake from

dreams where I find long gone objects,

allowing me to finally sleep. Lost pens always 

turn muckraker, armies of discarded marbles

sliding down my throat regularly. They are

turning my skin turquoise and at night 

cats' eyes glow and glance under my skin. 

I use the light to read up on men who

taunt their prey for weeks before killing.

I check the door, glowing eyes illuminate

my trot from bedclothes to door before

pouncing back behind the padded shield. 

The eyes under my skin are kitten peepers

compared to what's on my walls. Fear 

mongering myself so I don't long for people

giving me other things to bleed on about. 

Thirty Days Until Apollo's Solstice

I declare war on Summer. Apollo has scheduled the 2021's solstice for June 20th, leaving us thirty more lengthening days. So far, Chicago has done it's best to stave of the menace of Summer. I applaud May's short lived snow, the feisty rain early in the morning. However, lately Zeus has been slacking, letting the city and it's citizens bake. I implore the leviathans that dwell in lake michigan to swim and hunt in triangular/trapezoidal formations, as to better attract the attention of Zeus and other icy beings. In other Chicago news, I wrote this poem: 

Tiny Metal Kettle 

Whist relishing dream fruits I scribe Genesis 

on the back of my hand. My sweat runs jot 

& tittles rivers under my breath. I have hours of

casual cruelty to mull in sleep, limbs for golem 

empires maintaining catacombs under the city. 

Departing the apartment is an eternally

rewarding chore. I did not dress for internal 

storms this frigid. Spirits turn to steam 'round

these parts, trailing tales of murder while they

go, "read the walls first and last, someone

we all know fell through the cracks." 

Someone named the routes here after stages

of the grief cycle. 

I revel in how nippy shadows calm me here.

A Tad Late: Poems 05/19/2021

Needle Skip  

Hunted, calico 

comes the sunset. Twelve hours ago I woke

remembered you and wept. 

Untitled

Mortar flakes, gurgling paste

flooding the Loop, submerged flounder

pedals limp shoot betwixt lunar 

lagoons - I have seen and I am

EMPLORING TO TESTIFY,

I've enough coupons to take

every juror's family members to trial 

and still click ruby red shoes.  

It's the sun that chaps my lips so. 

Slice of...

Wedding Cake 

Hush and hark, blunderbuss, 

the quiz shows on. Who's this

puddle of bones you've married,

where are the kids,  did they find

that girl who was missing, what's in the 

fridge? Who killed that famous child 

in Colorado, would you rather have

a million pigeons or one sparrow? 

Honey, I miss three dead celebrities 

more than our marriage. 

 

Just A Quick Stroll: Public Access Poem 05/17/2021

A regular on my Reddit readings, EastcoastRabbit, contributed the phrase "anxiety deluxe," and I am most thankful. 

Afternoon Walk 

Opening my throat

with each cloud's silver 

lining. Anxiety deluxe,

predatory gait propelled

by timid bray. Alumni

transplant of the landlocked

bay, I'm baffled by the 

pesky green of the street signs. 

My best friend is yonder

radio, rides the bus with me,

takes up the entire seat, 

waits outside work patiently, 

scratching itches outside the pane,

hissing sparks and jazz come rain,

sleet or bullets, blue notes or hiccups, 

arachnid cunning in lexiconic pinball:

you paint the portrait and I'll flex the jigsaw.    

Epistle Poem 05/16/2021

This poem is for a specific person and a specific place.  Support your local art house. 

Silver Storm (Spell) 

I smoked my heart to ash,

cut it with weed and shipped it to you. 

Eggshells and grass, all that was left. 

***

Before my heart could be burnt 

it first had to be celluloid: 

personhood upholstery, 

tacking up our lives

with minimal loss of 

humanity. 

***

What we saw we all know

but few who still know me

care to remember 

or remember in jest, 

falsehoods, christ

in a jet I need to remember

the heat of a theater

in desert december. 

A froth from the beer,

the smoke from death's door

always begging for more,

friend have a smoke with me

film's got an hour or more... 

***

They smoked arteries  

to ash, and they are going

pave over my heart, buddy

pal, friend, only your eyes

and mine see how quick

comes an end....they are

going to pave over the

place where we met. 

***

I'm fine half the time

(though none ask anymore

not a soul but you)

half the time I belong

to ink and ink only,

phrases and tedium,

your lightning laugh dashes

cross the obsidian waves

to anchor me. Captain, 

where next? You clutch

the wheel, I'll light the crow's

nest, of my million friends your

one of the best. And you've seen

it, pearl leviathan, celluloid kraken, 

eternal life, your soul for a token, 

when treasure is hidden every

steamboat be toakin'. 

We have to paint the map first.  

***

I'm fine half the time

the other half I still

write. If your lost,

turn your eyes 

to the 16th arcana for light. 

(The film, about pirates, ends and I wake 

in a vast, red theater I don't remember. The 

horror of this strikes me and I hear a cool

voice say 'go back to sleep, the film is not 

over' no sooner than that I smell they are

still burning my celluloid heart above

in the booth.)

***

I smoked my heart to ash,

cut it with weed and shipped it to you. 

Smoke the eggshells and grass,

crack through the pavement and shoot.  

Library Spell

Spell for HW Library 

Top of the morning, wingspan guardians

of the Library! Rising uncharacteristically 

early, giving me time to nod hello before

I pass into whirlwind oblivion, 

bull sagging down an isle of teacups:

shattering morning stillness, sickness endures. 

Wide eyed wisdom minions, scrying me 

puff away in the rain, house me,

my words, my fellowship, forgive

me not yet stepping through your 

doors. Fear, pride, imperial demands,

the tax and wax of Chicago: all these

served to (mis)place our union. Soon, ark of arcs, 

I shall present my weary covenant. 

Fragment

Wrote this poem early in the afternoon with the intent to finish it this evening. While I fully plan to finish it, my day took several twists and turns that resulted in this fragment. We will see if this poem ever grows beyond this current status. 

Lamb Fragment 

Is the lamb the donkey, the stick, or the carrot? 

Frothing at the paste that holds each family together,

if god wont provide the apocalypse I'll use my pals to concoct

one. Is the lamb the donkey, the stick, or the carrot?

 

A Quick Poem On A Day Off: 05/13/2021

Clip Show 

So it has come to this?

I could turn this stanza

to an abacus, listing

past loves and testimonials,

but we've gnashed enough 

songs of loss and vitriol. 

When the buzzard lays with

pufferfish the intent of this

author has neglected you. 

Architecture unequivocally

rises above you petty characters,

this city I elected to eat me uses

these words for garnish. 

Once read I'm near comfortable.    

Funhouse: Poem 05/12/2021

Yesterday sizzled on the backburner all evening- a volume of Tristan Tzara poems came in the mail and brightened my mood. I think the book's arrival bled into today's poem, further inspired by running errands around this funhouse of a city. Also shout out to the most active editor of this blog, who has a birthday today. 

Notes on Shapes Comprising Chicago 

Dada aspirations, skeptical presummer

in Logan Square, not a victim in sight. 

Pleasantry met with hostility or honey

on pancakes, it all comes out premeditated

in hindsight, whatever the stakes. 

Has misery no allure in the totality of aesthetic 

grace? It is around the corner eternally,

omnipresent stalker, the maternal drain

devouring all offspring until the tattling

gurgle pricks everyone into dance and we

make a mast of the maypole and twine songs

into the sewers of entropy, ground to dreams &

fables. Echo around canyons and Platonic caves,

icebergs bobbing joyless whilst cutting smiles in vessels. 

Subterranean Highways: Poem 05/11/2021

Doldrum Ditty 

I miss all my old books,

and miscellaneous tethers,

certainly an object 

magical- but the missing

itself eclipses it. 

I levitate for hours

dropless fisherhook

stainless above contentment. 

When memory stirs unbidden

my loyal boat is shook. 

A behemoth belch from the deep:

the way your words clipped when

read aloud. I start back as the L,

shudders along its burrow.

Preen: Poem 05/10/2021

One more day until my midweekend. Feeling alright, if spread a little thin. Hoping to consolidate some projects over the time off. 

Voted out of the 27 Club 

Polishing my face ruddy - whistleblower.

Shrill preening about the octagon, 

wolfen savant composed entirely

of others' fears. Tiny-megaphone

englonging her voice across

the middle quadrants of the

republic, cut short by the 

triumph of the ambulance 

siren, luring rabid, pale

horses into the caned, 

feisty death of dog food, rebirth

forever in testament to man's best friend.

We feed death to the dogs for a fiddle

scribble or our souls.  

Sisterhood of the Meandering Prolix

Ended up writing a witchy poem on Mother's day. Remember to leave some broccoli out for Norman Bates tonight everyone. 

Green Flash of Lake Michigan 

Fields 'round the skate park fill with locusts. 

The girls and I watch summer sizzle each

night, lifted smokes to the air, rings on

our skin. Daisy chains,

Olympian protest against Ivy Leagues, 

Sisyphean, I mean, the light is lean

between the trees and I won't make

these ladies wait, not with 

bountiful hearts to break round

the empty lake, doves to scorn

and spinsterhood to embrace. 

But one last semester first. 

A pox upon our final yearbook. 

Immolation of all sisterhood,

familiars, even sex and love. 

A pox upon our final yearbook.

Midweek Poem: 05/08/2021

Untitled (golden ticket)

Held I time's reins I'd never speak to anyone. 

Simply memorize the world 

in lecherous despair. Amongst prudes, 

the lonesome voyer may once be king. Televised

trials of war criminals and torture murderers,

'longside every sex act imaginable, 

the populace lives second to Nero now - 

the squares lost. Provided you dressed

for the vanilla winds, stomach all the

ice cream you like. I'm plump with

earrings in, seeing the missing posters

flock to the phone poles. You long

to transcend the material plane, 

traverse Yesod, rook time and death?

Be lonesome in metropolis.  

Different Pigeons This Time: Public Access Poem 05/07/2021

Lateweek Monday 

Hearty bowl of pot, got me wired-

a good ol' Hoover boy, just like

my father. 

Listening to god pray I ignite

a jay and I say, "Pal, this old

dirty shit's alright,"

brush crumbs and ash into

a little bit of paper and 

count victim tallies of

famed murder's - the sort

journalists profile in paperback.

A real american son, queer

as an earned dollar bill. 

The eye on the pyramid

would smile upon thee 

if that were it's will. But some duck's

haven't even flown south yet,

i'm too far away to see them off,

so ride up by our old

place and sit where 

we used to. I got

pigeons year round here to tend to.  

Slasher: Public Access Poem 05/ 06/2021

Campfire Prologue (Three Flags for Summer)  

Star rippled over the tawny clouds. 

I had plans to go camping come June,

someone promised. Once the bodies

been showing up the trees have been

off limits. 

I cut the mouths out my kids books, 

stuck them to the roof of my room 

for stars. Spending hours in the garage

drinking, leering at yearbooks. I'll never go

lilypad leaping 

again, no Summer solstice lanterns 

lit aloft for this last call, just the 

sweatshirt tree stalking come firefall.

My mask cuts deep into sleeping lovers

epitomizing folklore.  

Hex: Public Access Poem 05/05/2021

Had another droll day, came home and wrote this hex and fretted about the apartment. While writing this poem I got some assistance and thoughtful feedback from some regulars, which greatly influenced the final draft. 

You'll Be Just Like Me 

Nostalgia drenched in foul bitterness,

wasteful malice rippling through  

each utterance: Patmos wind. Refracted 

recollections of amorous afternoons 

past do nothing for my luster thus. 

I quake, rope deep in the well pulled

taut, yanking myself up and froth through 

the epidermis, pooling in

your subterranean urges 

until after one worst day,

stoned and broke, no

lovers clamoring on

the telephone, we'll

be on equal footing

once more.   

Another Chicago Ditty

Chicago Has No Summer (and I Love It)

I haven't anything to complain about- 

nothing anyone is willing to fix. 

Fourth wheel on the shopping cart

pirouettes while wailing uncanny 

thirst and the cans

tumble on the minimum

effort employee. I blink

and the White Sox stadium

is right outside the train,

filling slowly with grey drizzle. 

Batwing maw to Midwest's

gothic furnace, the hospital

I arrived at was flanked by

a burnt husk house.  Cathedral 

arteryscape reel backward until pink

sky rips deepseablue.   

Poem 05/03/2021

Stormcloud Director

I trip myself into a blizzard

and pick apart the nastiest traits

of my entire cast, laundering

every grievance until they sob,

then I ask them to mop before 

leaving. Who. The Hell. Calls

me anymore? Loads of people,

at all hours, solicitors and I love

you but who makes time for 

idle chit chat when there are Idols

to make? It takes an hour to set up 

a punchline plus two hours to strike set. 

I play bingo with misery- forum 

place your bets, slip past the ushers,

those of you I still miss.

Clocking On: 05/02/2021

Came home and vented big clouds I balloon animal twisted into the following poem. 

Tentative Mouse 

I'm hungry, not by choice

this time. No chic purge

diet- just pure capitalism

punishing me, every instant

demanding I behave 

the exact opposite to my

inclenanations- resulting

destructive impulses

when released back into

the city. What if I etched

the name of every street

across my body in blotchy

lines? Tourists might come

just to see me then. Remember

kid, one day you'll not have 

the freedom of no one listening. 

Level With Me: Poem 05/01/2021

Busy day at work, followed by a serious writing session. If the product is serius or not is (naturally) in the mind of the beholder. 

Eye Level 

How's the installation 

atop your high horse, 

dress donated from the 

Emperor's tailor? 

Myself, I like the

muck down here,

crouching down by

the dumpster to light

up out of the wind. 

Swift penguin back

into the deck, drawn

next to hanged man

and ten swords, my

cup overfloweth, I'm 

not preoccupied with

lexicons so much as

thesaurus, omnipotent

flush of hearts, lines 

next to buttercups 

pressed untouched.