Chicago
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Chicago
keeper of
dreams in
great grey granite
climbing and stretching mild
morning weather above sand beaches
along long stretches of grey blacktopped roads
reaching south more than one state long
white whispers of breath breathed by a gigantic
gathering of water molecules set in place
like so many possibilities seen in the dark night.
Sensual serenades, dimly lit situations carried on in blinking dark
where esoteric exits lead to lower links of road faster and faster until crash,
palace princesses coo and swoon mighty knights struck down by the gentlest gusts of wind
winding and sweeping over a man pushing a mower while wet white sheets breezes blowing waves over ridged water worn formations of sediment showing passage of time for dinner just as the street lights come on
and the deep pan style pizza arrives
as a game of kick ball comes to an end,
the porch light on to alert the driver caught when twenty over the limit
noticing the planes from O’Hare
always seeming to bank like the river near the preserves
disturbing deer feeding 95 stories
above or two stories below streets
crowded with people
traveling in all modes of transportation
who upon leaving for destinations
take some Chicago home.
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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.
Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.