Side One
A soaring blue bird guiding his wings to the curves of the earth, tickling,
that shudder that massages the humors and muses.
Founded on the unknown, what is known? Not
the verve bursting as he trundles, escaping,
to the warmth of the pyramids or beneath a prince,
resting warmly at his feet not wanting anything. We all want something!
A shout in the streets, riots,
obliquely effulgent about the new Sunday mornings’, sometimes
under a new sun, air, pollution, cough, rushes in,
traduce his breath, muffled,
rustling his sky feathers to readjust,
somnolent at the atmosphere, what is it?
The harbinger, this travel palliates the undertow,
row, row, row,
My squab, keep eyes forward, beak pointing up,
no food can hope to entice those senses,
longing, always, longing
hands create and build and love
but the dove calls from home, her crescendo reaches your
ears too late.
don’t my friend,
don’t glance at the coming storm.
Side two
The domicile nags the back of the neck, that appeal.
Fancy quondam, I do, my heart
sweats like a sailor in the cellar, bucolic panders
to those jejune eyes, right, or falters at the first paintings of that beauty,
bleeding cause of the age, temperature and time does it no good,
no, it wilts like a thirsty flower and sends me into palsy.
Erode and unravel that master plan too late, I did,
descend to the level of reality that proliferates sadness, o those tears,
“Heart of my heart, were it more, more would be laid at your feet,”
compete with unknown suitors basking roses and clovers, over, and over,
it’s hard to prove that seas and oceans seem brighter with you,
like poor Odysseus sailing for years without lovely Penelope, but that image,
the lasting immortality that she had in him, lead him,
it existed in a stasis and never changed, even if she might have,
what would you call that?
I wear it like armor and resist those sharp blades.
I can see the youth in your eyes, teary they be, pleading,
farwell, farewell, farewell!
You wave desperately but are halted,
feet like lead and hands like rubber, folding with a prayer,
“Will he please be alright?” “Can she please be with me?”
mail that remorse and those ties that fly at the speed of your heart beat.
Defeat, I swell at it, scorn it,
concrete counter tops, loud warble from taxi cabs, and cars,
state street won’t be the same, no, those sleepless summers smiling,
smiling as the 62 is nowhere to be found, but I didn’t care. I remember and laugh.
Please, home, kiss me, like you did before.
Those lips clasps and turn on my soul,
a bowl of oatmeal appeals to that waking night right at your side.
O, Chicago and you. Two views of the same coin.
No change left, no time, pockets jingle like bells,
its’ been swell, hell, I’ll see you soon.
I swoon at the stars and halos above your head
from the photos, dross, not to me.
You decide and feel, eventually,
eventually we can be happy.
but the most real art
shows us apart…
