poem

there are no window curtains in Chicago only wings flashing in the wind
because the buildings are brick automobiles pulled up off the open road
train cars lifted off the bloody tracks, boats hoisted up from the dead water
trees give way! earth give way!
all
all sent through the chipper, the metal mashed and melted, sparks and dust mixed
bedrock struck, the slurry poured, from there rising
with the sun shining right through
right through like light through greasy paper

the buildings lean back
the people lean in
birds bank through the wide valley

The light changes: walk
the sound of heals and horns
the heart and voice
horns and heals
clangs and belches
that echo like an auctioneer
going once, twice
the heart and voice beating out against the clear blue sky
pulsing down roads, tracks, the river
the river split like wishes and redirected
the lake lending the prairie air

innocence slaughtered
murdered for money
dreams used to sharpen knives
hope twisted in knots
bound in obligations

when we love we make things
that's what we do
and we make them
against what we hate
and we hate the flat of the earth
hate the laying down of the dead

in Chicago we build walls to go up
like iron cape or shawl or poncho over the living
to keep out the weather
to keep out the weather and to keep out you!
not curtains, no
tuck pointed, set with mortar, walls with the look of forever
that we knock down all the time
that we knock down every spring
that we build every time we go to sleep
angles, they know the combination
thieves, they don't need it
everyone else: favors

angles, thieves, angles, thieves...
hold my hand
i'm new to the neighborhood
it's the coming back that makes me new
durable
like a promise
there
it's what's in your guts
it's what's in your guts that i've come for