Red brick Culver
waits patiently
by a new two-story
library over Lake
Maxinkuckee.
waits patiently
by a new two-story
library over Lake
Maxinkuckee.
Water lapping
on the hull of
a 1939
Mahogany Chris Craft
on Labor Day.
Afternoon boat
ride on a
choppy Maxinkuckee
to drink rye whiskey and
marvel at homes.
Casino king
southern accent
charm understated thing
hops on but media
blocks the sunset.
I want to feel
my body. I
want to feel my soul.
But they elude me. I
am left alone.
Interconnect.
A reverse fan,
sticky paper, quicksand.
We are held together
by Toucan Sam.
By rejecting
wealth and all that
it stands for, you wind up
worrying about it
all of the time.
"Metatarsals"
is a cool word
unless you must wear them
for 3-to-11s
plus overtime.
Enter your dreams
press on your core
where a princess in white
lingerie awaits your
every error.
Get naked, Joe,
and you’ll know why
there’s coats in the winter
and ice in the summer
and Wampum high.
Sidewalks in the
fall crunch with leaves
and sticks and congruent
wicks while dreams of summer
are a bummer.
24 bumps
and you are a
genius or a lump. But
rhyme like a chime and you're
nothing but slime.
I’m a rambler.
I stopped gambling
a while ago, but
I still manage to get
lost on the range.
Be. A gnat on
on a tiger’s
ass flies around at the
speed of Aunt Cynthia
telling a joke.
Eating a grape
that’s sour in
the morning wakes you up
like smoking weed on the
porch at sunrise.
Bob and Rachel
Flanagan slowed
up for a light on south
Cicero and promptly
got blown away.
Bill and Barbie
Branagan left
a Cubs game in the fifth
inning and never made
it home again.
Antoine Collins
stopped for bread
on the way home from Com
Ed and was shot in the
head from behind.
Juan Cruz brought
enchiladas
to the guys at work but
didn’t make it back a
casa a noche.
Sue Chen knew where
she’d been but no
one else does after she
jogged north on the Lake and
got stabbed – again.
Chicago has
its strengths, but if
you’re not afraid at night ,
you’re either stupid or
an idiot.
I’m wastin’ time
not wastin’ time.
Chuck said “Don’t try.” Now we
all understand why. I
just wanna cry.
A white Napa
Auto Parts truck
pulls out fast from behind
a dumpster where an A’s
hat just smoked weed.
Some late summer
tailgate sun
cleans out unnecessary
sensibilities and
sobrieties.
Semi on a
bridge over a
river makes a lot of
noise for the carp swimming
underneath it.
I used to make
a lot of dough,
but it almost destroyed
me. I don’t deserve it.
Neither do you.
Sirens on a
thunderhead, pills
on a pillow. Parents
sob hysterically, death
by a willow.
A policeman
walks by a park
bench where an old woman
in a house dress reads the
morning paper.
I'm tired of
plastic people.
They are hard to destroy,
easy to elicit
a false pity.
I want to feel
my body. I
want to feel my soul.
But they elude me. I
am left alone.
I'm tired of
anxiety
controlling my life from
work to groceries to church
to final breath.
All she had to
do was wear jeans
to church and turn her head
to show her face. It was
love from above.
This is the cold
gray chalice of
the thump thump thump of the
24 bump bump bumps
that code my life.
A tale of two
cemeteries
is written on the back
of a No Parking sign
behind Walmart.
If you're working
to lose the pain
that your mom left you, just
hand it to one of your
kids... and then die.
If God would just
release me from
this nasty feeling I
walk around with, I'd believe
in Him better.
on the hull of
a 1939
Mahogany Chris Craft
on Labor Day.
Afternoon boat
ride on a
choppy Maxinkuckee
to drink rye whiskey and
marvel at homes.
Casino king
southern accent
charm understated thing
hops on but media
blocks the sunset.
I want to feel
my body. I
want to feel my soul.
But they elude me. I
am left alone.
Interconnect.
A reverse fan,
sticky paper, quicksand.
We are held together
by Toucan Sam.
By rejecting
wealth and all that
it stands for, you wind up
worrying about it
all of the time.
"Metatarsals"
is a cool word
unless you must wear them
for 3-to-11s
plus overtime.
Enter your dreams
press on your core
where a princess in white
lingerie awaits your
every error.
Get naked, Joe,
and you’ll know why
there’s coats in the winter
and ice in the summer
and Wampum high.
Sidewalks in the
fall crunch with leaves
and sticks and congruent
wicks while dreams of summer
are a bummer.
24 bumps
and you are a
genius or a lump. But
rhyme like a chime and you're
nothing but slime.
I’m a rambler.
I stopped gambling
a while ago, but
I still manage to get
lost on the range.
Be. A gnat on
on a tiger’s
ass flies around at the
speed of Aunt Cynthia
telling a joke.
Eating a grape
that’s sour in
the morning wakes you up
like smoking weed on the
porch at sunrise.
Bob and Rachel
Flanagan slowed
up for a light on south
Cicero and promptly
got blown away.
Bill and Barbie
Branagan left
a Cubs game in the fifth
inning and never made
it home again.
Antoine Collins
stopped for bread
on the way home from Com
Ed and was shot in the
head from behind.
Juan Cruz brought
enchiladas
to the guys at work but
didn’t make it back a
casa a noche.
Sue Chen knew where
she’d been but no
one else does after she
jogged north on the Lake and
got stabbed – again.
Chicago has
its strengths, but if
you’re not afraid at night ,
you’re either stupid or
an idiot.
I’m wastin’ time
not wastin’ time.
Chuck said “Don’t try.” Now we
all understand why. I
just wanna cry.
A white Napa
Auto Parts truck
pulls out fast from behind
a dumpster where an A’s
hat just smoked weed.
Some late summer
tailgate sun
cleans out unnecessary
sensibilities and
sobrieties.
Semi on a
bridge over a
river makes a lot of
noise for the carp swimming
underneath it.
I used to make
a lot of dough,
but it almost destroyed
me. I don’t deserve it.
Neither do you.
Sirens on a
thunderhead, pills
on a pillow. Parents
sob hysterically, death
by a willow.
A policeman
walks by a park
bench where an old woman
in a house dress reads the
morning paper.
I'm tired of
plastic people.
They are hard to destroy,
easy to elicit
a false pity.
I want to feel
my body. I
want to feel my soul.
But they elude me. I
am left alone.
I'm tired of
anxiety
controlling my life from
work to groceries to church
to final breath.
All she had to
do was wear jeans
to church and turn her head
to show her face. It was
love from above.
This is the cold
gray chalice of
the thump thump thump of the
24 bump bump bumps
that code my life.
A tale of two
cemeteries
is written on the back
of a No Parking sign
behind Walmart.
If you're working
to lose the pain
that your mom left you, just
hand it to one of your
kids... and then die.
If God would just
release me from
this nasty feeling I
walk around with, I'd believe
in Him better.