Uncommon Ground I

 

      bowl of chai soup tastes

      sublime, Barb’s plant-festooned

flat, like a Chicago street before the

potholes swallow wildlife, become

homes to wood splinters and

the Neil Alger Duo, the promise

of Nighthawks, I can’t contain the

tears – rain in a shift in Personal

Myth, a branch naked in the

night steam, fog enshrouds La Salle St.

obscures the Hancock Building,

the BEAN wreathed in reflected

light, a dream, the sun can’t

chase the Blues back

      to Berwyn.

 

II

 

I’d chilaquile (chk sausage substitute)

she, the girl with rhinestone

barrettes & black snow rapid

evaporates into air, puffs of

breath blown out a bass guitar @

Andy’s. Boys in wool knit hats and

t-shirts say “Damn it feels good to be a

Badger!” But I know how 380

acres can flood in a day,

make a run for it before the

thunder in December, Pop’s 80^th

he’s playing the guitar like a

lover of huevos! Ai!

You wake tangled in every

way – and I’m working on

                                       the knots.

 

10:22A – 12.27.08