Two cities

1.
Midwest birthed from swamp lands and saloons. We can
still hear the ranting and raving of the thieves. We can
breathe deep the molded cataracts and cathedrals. We can
witness the ace of spades with a bullet hole funneling a wound.
pick a card! I doubt you will know.
The whore bred the suckling child from a pig’s carcass. Or
withered pictures of a wilderness that is as lime as aged ale. Or
angry Polaroid’s of folks pissing, coughing, wheezing, smoking. Or
mist of black lungs smoldering over piles of shit they scoop.
‘those kikes or negroes or spikes better dig them holes’
We have seen the river.
We have seen the rise

2.
Up east was the shore for change.
The water washed up immigrants, wood, concrete, callous, cancerous fires.
The children are born gazing upward at the monstrous structures.
Their necks crane. Heaven beams down. Laughing.
Poor child, you know nothing of these alleys,
still wet behind the ears.
Years are minutes as the wood turns to stone, and glass, and metal.
The Bronx morphs into a melting-pot of ethnicities.
Motion, one must motion on these streets.
Blend into a mirage of worried glances.
Even then these streets screamed, yelled, cried.
Hunger for more. Hunger for more.
Watch as the seagulls bring wreaths from the ocean.
It is a symbol of death, you know.

3.
The line snakes across the loop.
High above their heads, like a flying dragon,
roaring at each curve.
Large caverns surround it.
People fear and respect him.
Looming like a pall cloud,
a carousel
frost and warmth and gust and serenity.
Lake placidly murmurs
melodies and sonnets.
Quietly so not to awake any sleepers.
On LSD weaving edges into concrete slabs.
The Pier is stagnant tonight.
Only a few jocularly float around the Ferris Wheel.
Kindly holding hands, against the rocking
compartment.
Chicago’s breath bashes
as the skyline shows its face.
A merry-go-round
they whisper to themselves,
envying the subtle glows in the distance.
Why can’t we be like them?

4.
She bridges two sides.
Built for transportation across
a wet body.
So deep your feet would float.
She is sturdy,
thousand of lines suspend her structure.
Shadows bounce off her body,
scars and silhouettes of dreams.
She is so gigantic
we would need more than ourselves
to lift her free.
She is a prisoner to
the armies marching on her,
the vehicles treading hoarsely upon her,
the animals shitting on her,
everyday, every night.
Never shouting, she just lies and waits.
Hoping that someday her prayers will be answered.
But, she isn’t religious, no.
Visitors gawk and stare upwards at her.
She is beautiful, they say,
but she doesn’t believe them.
No man loves a giant.
Too much passion to hold.
She weeps at night as the lively city
refuses to sleep.
The two worlds she connects,
neighborhoods and cities,
strangers and friends,
lovers and doubters,
us and them.
She is not apart of that.
She is an artifact of a different design.
Needing silence of another nature,
a stasis or shield,
if she wishes to be happy.
Such beautiful ways,
her view paints masterpieces,
but she doesn’t see it that way,
no,
she is too afraid,
to see.

5.
He crafts buildings on her arms.
She is a canvas for designs.
They come to life from her body.
The magnificent mile, it is so much more,
spewing off her skin.
She smiles as his pen moves,
it isn’t painful,
merely a scratch.
She has dug her nails deep into his back,
leaving ripped skin and a bruised spin.
It is the savage beast,
her claws etch and tear,
but his pen, it leaves a scar.
It is a wand for creative spark,
morphing electric moons and elastic sun rises.
His letters animate into being
anything and everything they desire.
Like expansive deserts or endless oceans.
He builds boats and sails and rafts and decks.
Wafting seagulls and waves and clouds and flags
into the air like magician producing doves mindlessly.
so pure and innocent.
She is worried though.
His eyes are indigo,
resembling a black hole.
Devouring everything, but attaching nothing.
He is a vacuum absorbing colors and shapes and sounds and pains and claims.
But will he see her?
Or consume her like the rest.
She gazes out the pane glass,
watching Wabash ignite on a summer night.
He writes notes on her wrist,
not glancing away
from his desire.

6.
The boardwalk
it brings another notion.
Grace upon an ocean that sleeps merely feet away.
White sand mixed with gravel,
along the cool water massaging the shore.
Adore the memorial benched marked at every view.
Sit and imagine why they cry.
Not just for the paradise placate in their eyes,
remember their egregious deaths and lives.
Sepulcher staid and wept and thrives.
Joggers come and go
ubiquitous with the town houses and travelers.
Akimbo for seconds then leaving once again.
We were travelers once, yes,
opiate tendencies,
bickering over what was.
The flocks of birds scrambled quickly.
Distinct rambling of who’s and what’s.
This island was once ours.
Maneuvering symbols to associate our plans,
hands grasping desires and pain,
gains of miles driving for awhile.
But, you wept too soon.
Or left to early.
I couldn’t formulate the scene
of one being so happy
then whisking away
so free.

Just let the air in.

Wake, but asleep within the blue morning. Waste.
What a waste it is to imagine a smile.
Fossil fuel powers oceans, but his streams
They have been sapped. Stolen.
It is because. Because He doesn’t know.

I love intensity, I love vigor, I love new.

Sleep, weary eyes, sleep.
She can’t make signs for churches,
Or build trees without chopping wood.
It monsoons, a bath, then it washes the emotions.
He feels it. He feels the moisture in her hands.
He holds her wet hands as she coughs up stars.

I love ambiguity, love verve, love askew.

He brushes her hair and holds the bucket for her pain.
He massages her back as she barfs, but her eyes,
They say something. Else we forget the narrow corners.
He can’t fight. Heart pumps, bulge out. Bubump, Bubump.
Breathe in the NYC and kiss the floor.
He picks it up and dusts it off his jeans.
It laughs at him, but he hides it anyway.

Love rational meaning, practical reasoning, radical change.

Walk or run to the nearest city. Press and Release. Synergy.
Embryo jaunted among the cries she cried.
Sickening her, making her voice horse, head hot.
Think straight through fuzzy
Openings and closings and openings and closings.
Can’t keep the door so wide open, no,
just let the air come in.

Whistle melodies as they rest shoulder to shoulder.
She sings a song that spews remorse.
He dreams the dreams that guide the course. They

Stare at the passing images.
Place hands together and pray.
He likes to kiss she calls a cab.
She squeezes down hard, a lover’s jab,
To say.

“All is gone so nab a smile and gather the remaining springs while we part ok?”

Planes fly low below the storms.
Lighting flashes, rumbles, and burns.
Thunder roars, churns, angrily growling
before it yearns.
He glances down, not really smiling,
seeing it, perspiring,
Yellow orbs, of
Serenity.