reading #157

AME AND THE TANGY ENERGETIC

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city and music of

was america was
chicago was life worth
working for ina cross
road. you and me and any one
fought through the seasons
the vocals the
exhaust
the steam of whistling
industry
i could feel the touch
the warmth beneath your voice
in a cold world

a hot world
you could shout you could scream
you would have to
to be heard
then the aftermath the streets
the faces ina diner
ina hard won heartfelt
part of town

mocha skin tones made by
sun and genes
cream and sugar and
coffee black
where noise is music
toasting broken hearts and
dishes and bottles. you woke me up
i can feel you today thousands
of miles away

i can laugh
i can cry ona dime ina city
and the music of
noise
i was and wasn’t
there

city and the music of noise

was america was
chicago was life worth

working for ina cross

road. you and me and any one

fought through the seasons

the vocals the

exhaust

the steam of whistling

industry

i could feel the touch
the warmth beneath your voice

in a cold world
you could shout you could scream

you would have to

to be heard

then the aftermath the streets

the faces ina diner

ina hard won heartfelt

part of town
mocha skin tones made by

sun and genes
cream and sugar and
coffee black

where noise is music

toasting broken hearts and

dishes and bottles. you woke me up
i can feel you today thousands

of miles away
i can laugh
i can cry ona dime ina city

and the music of

noise

i was and wasn’t

there

faux hawk city

i only got one life to live and my part’s crestfallen off my head, my eyelids hanging half-mast tonight. my thoughts are no longer disorganized or petty or obsessed or compulsed, you see, i only got one life to live so i’m takin’ a train to faux hawk city, honey, and i won’t be comin’ back without you, no, i won’t be comin’ back all alone.

flash on chalk

chalk drawn sidewalks told a story of the city on a sunday morning. the heat was beginning to climb upon us with the sun in the sky. i took some coffee and you had water and we walked three corners of the square. many of the artists were down on their elbows touching up. a kid who had not learned to talk looked in our eyes and pointed enthusiastically at some faces in the stone. no longer alone.

the last living smile

many years from now

when shyness is the greatest of virtues
and skepticism the license
to live

your eyes will come up over the ledge
of some old tome so heavy
in your hands

in a bare reading room
in the last living library
against the ticking
muffling the heart of
this city

and ask me
out from under the skein of our technocracy
what is goodwill?

and like a sun just risen
above any horizon
i will decorate the room
your face

will decorate
the room
my face

with the ancient
smile