a day away from a poem a day and I’m already feeling petulant.
pride of place, I recon, with no reason but a heathen hip hip
hurray to gainsay what passes for Spring; this city of big shoulders
Decades here, notwithstanding, green shoots that appear are but blanks
or sidewalk chalk pastel wishes of young artist I still skyscraper
And I’m stooped now. shrinking. contracting, in the chill of a rebirth
without reason, or a season conducive for doing so.
April in Chicago.