Mad Rush of the Hour

February 13th, 2007 at 11:14:18 AM

Cars beeping, honking, ranting;

Red light, white lights glimmering in

The snow and the rain and the darkness

Of night—it seems as if those metallic

Aliens are roving and weaving through

The streets—crowded, the sounds—pained,

The world, utter pandemonium, chaos;

Radios blaring, windows down, arms out,

Cursing and hand obscenities aplenty;

Homeless with newspapers, wake up at 5:30 AM

To sell for meager money, and the stream of cars

Are passing slowly, slower, slowest, stop—5 miles p/ hr.

Soft listening, moving jazz, talk shows and traffic reports,

“An hour and twenty-five minutes down the Dan Ryan outbound”

Ugh, driving pains come with those who leave work first—5:30 PM,

Rush hour, Rush indeed.

Workers of Conglomeration

February 9th, 2007 at 10:04:41 AM

Leather jackets and black-brown briefcases,

Shifty looks at metal-faux watches,

Rumbling and shaking in the deep midst

Of the clean-sheet trains in perfect rhythm.

Black-blue suits and wound-up ties

Are dressed up on shaved-lit faces

And work in tall buildings, plastered glass;

Freshened shiny-bright glares off the

Golden crimson sun—meetings of work

And ideas for plans—imagination of

Attempts in jobs—for thoughts of going

Ahead with plans—the streets are crowded;

It’s conglomeration—when the businesses drift

Together; look out, world—they’re coming in.

February 6th, 2007 at 11:16:48 AM

It’s the sound, the representation

Of the voice; adults and children—

Singing from the bottom of their

Eyes fluttering musically on the

Heads move in the audience,

Swaying to the notes of the instruments

That commence to the famous bands

And they move their bodies, closing

Hands around the microphone to

Release those ideas, boy—you’re in front;

The crowd is shouting encores, compliments—

And back, the gentle chorus creates perfect unison.
It’s the same thing.