All morning
bicycles plow
the night soil streets of Milwaukee Avenue.
Two devils on an oxcart cry,
'Destiny ordure! Destiny ordure!Ó
My book bag and I lean against a building.
I smoke, I sniffle, I breathe hard
when climbing subway stairs.
I am buffeted by broad shoulders, wind, pizza,
bears, bulls and fires. Of the people brushing past
some are 4 feet tall, some 7. I smoke
and smoke and dodge dog scat and strange
dirty bags on the sidewalk.
Today
at the Art Institute a German girl
kindly asked for a smoke. I lit upon a Lucky Strike.
Four fool lungs. Einfühlung.
On the
Expressway my van farts emissions
illegal everywhere but Nashville.
Brick warehouses sunbath to the right.
Grain and chemical bins ping with expansion.
Sometimes the world's wrongs construct
a pleasant scarf. I have a class where all the girls
are bright and just so beautiful.
Being very hungry today I ate rotisserie chicken.
Pedestrians stared in disgust.
I yum with bones in mouth.
I bone with two hand skin.
I glurg glurg chicken fat coffee.
After my wet nap I smoke
and I smoke.
Rags,
sticks and floating orange peels:
what the city needs is a siege of battleships,
a transistor.
