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.
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