the platitudes of willful resemblance

illusions of clowns, teeth bared and wickedly grinned.
delusions, grandiose and thinking that my lawn matters to more than the pope.
allusions to escapism outside Chicago, allusions of beauty before the morning, allusions of ballet toes bleeding from the rain.

high colored reality , divisions of flashing white porcelain against tile decadently scarred by misinforming vandals. embassies from god or the prince of Valiumed ladies distressing the floorboards of old missions;
I hang up the phone and turn to go outside for smoking, drinking coffee and dancing in the rain.

though I can no longer dance, everyday I think of the two-step.

stuck, inescapable nighttimedreaming and forcing awake a moment of clarity and pleasant cool air drafting in from racked open doors, the sound of small animals fleeting, the sound of disquiet under moonlight, and I am in underwear with uneven legs bare, uneven mind shifting under weight of trailing thought.

water bottle is empty.
medicine bottle is empty.

there is enough light to shadow.

freight train carrying boxes of cartoon imagination
sounds from one mile east, moving south south east
and into Chicago
metro.

dawn and I hear the first passenger cars slow to a halt but cannot discern the passengers boarding.

– Hoc Scripsi