(version 3)
Someday Jesse wants to go home.
I see his world,
all it’s hidden concepts
embedded in Jesse’s aging facelife
has whispered by leaving
memory trails
wrinkled forehead,
deep as river bed ruts
dried with years, weather-beaten,
just above his bushy eyebrows
that are gray and twisted
much like life drawing memories
across his empty face.
Jesse has a long oblique
Jewish nose with dark
blue opal eyes,
that would pierce
even the pain
of his own crucifixion.
Life tears flow though
a whole new ghoulish
apparition, a vision
of homelessness plastered
east of Dearborn Bridge,
near Lower Wacker Drive,
downtown Chicago
where affluent citizens
seldom go unless inebriated;
puke-stained, or in a taxicab.
————————————–
Jesse’s hair sprouts skyward,
groomed like an abandoned
dove nest in wild Chicago
meandering winds.…
...continue reading
Elegant autumn silhouettes hang around like little men
in bars, unsteady, anticipating the season’s departure.
They fall at any opportunity and the sun, always there,
secures the dapple-drunk-dancers into cool afternoon festival.
The harvests sleep; leaves have curled. The bruised past
flickers now through scratched, monochrome re-run.
Earth, still in motion; weary and ripped, shivers.
Dead spirits form low blankets of clouds –
they keep watch over the hollow creatures.
Spellbound, they, marveling new skin.
Eyes freshly gouged from wars stitched with ego-thread,
see the wandering babies collect fallen, colourless irises.
Miniature weapons of hate and fiction – undesirable gewgaws.
Then small distractions shatter tall visions like sudden,
burnt toffee and shadows ascend once more.
They fade fast into yesterday without hope.
And the hollow creatures, bloated with clichéd
placebo, expire like the little men’s smoke,
billowing skyward at the bar.…
...continue reading