The ribbon of pellucid water unfurled through the downtown,
wending through high-rises and multistory parking garages.
The thin strand cut a clear path through the boxy urban landscape,
flowed past the flanking condos, blocks of concrete aggregated en masse.
A steady stream of joggers and cyclists trickled by the waterway.
People strode, strolled, rode e-scooters, moved with varied propulsion.
Skyscrapers towered off in the distance like a broken promise,
an elevation that was unscalable, forever illusory, ever eluding one’s path.
Dec 5, 2021
Dec 5, 2021 at 4:07 AM UTC
The pesto, the curry, the sugary tomato sauce,
the goat cheese-stuffed ravioli all expired someday.
No matter how rare, the food never had an inspiration date
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 2:35 AM UTC
The winter of our discontent
The spring of our discontent
The summer of our discontent
The fall of our discontent
We better move to Phoenix
or Miami or maybe the Bay Area
if we can afford it. So fatigued, so weary,
so tired of the endless changing of the seasons
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 3:55 AM UTC
The greats flame out in the fire of their own passions.
They burn like scintillating firecrackers against the dark.
From a distance, you feel lucky to witness such incandescence.
But the brightest brilliance burns through the feedstock of dry rot.
That Jello plate was pain, that half-bitten sandwich pain,
that drunken urinating a barely concealed cri de cœur.
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 3:26 AM UTC
Yngwie Malmsteen shredded on six strings,
set a new standard that was baroque beyond imagining.
The virtuoso rocker was a guitarist's guitarist,
a neoclassical metalhead strumming a Stratocaster like no other.
He impressed those in the know with his technical expertise.
He never struck a chord with a mainstream audience.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 4:09 AM UTC
We cure the meat with coarse rock salt, malt vinegar,
coriander, black pepper, garlic, paprika, and time.
We cure the meat until it’s a dried-out husk of rawhide,
until it’s inured against the winter, the rough journey ahead.
We can’t inure ourselves so easily, brine ourselves
against the bacteria and contaminants, and harshness of life.
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 3:16 AM UTC
I wandered out of that rock club,
ears ringing with tintinnabulation,
gnarled and deadened ears unable to hear
as I stumbled around the empty courthouse square
searching for my parked car.
That indie band was loud,
loud as hell, loud to the point
where I was deprived of one my vital senses,
at least temporarily,
but I never had a better time.
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 4:23 AM UTC
The fourth, the fifth, the sixth hour, the seventh hour
the fireworks erupted on,
and on and on and on,
like an artillery barrage that was being walked in
on an elusive target it would never strike,
one began to wonder if one would ever be free
of the lingering smog of smoke and the sonic assault on the senses.
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 2:54 AM UTC
When I was young, I was a bookish soul
who hung out in the chafed leather chairs
at the Barnes and Noble
wearing an itchy, chafing sweater,
listening to Weezer,
waiting for something good to finally happen
in my rotten teenage life.
It didn’t.
It never did.
The "Sweater Song" would always come on Q101
as my family visited Michigan City,
stopped by the beach, the outlet mall, the zoo,
hitting up pretty much almost all the attractions before 4:30 p.m.
Weezer roared on the stereo and
later at the Tinley Park Amphitheater,
where it was easy to park but impossible to escape.
The band tore into the much-requested cover of Toto’s "Africa,"
knowing everyone just wanted the hits and to get home
and cocoon themselves unthinkingly in Netflix,
that everyone swaddled themselves in a sweater
somewhere
in some cozy and familiar domicile.
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 3:27 AM UTC
When you're young,
lust burns like a wildfire,
wild and indiscriminate,
wayward and incandescent,
raging and all-consuming.
When you're older and settled down,
when you've accreted some experience,
a few creases, and maybe some midsection flab,
lust draws you to your yoked partner,
connects you with the reliable stability
of a gift shop magnet plastered to the fridge.
Feb 16, 2020
Feb 16, 2020 at 2:05 AM UTC