Icy breath belonging to Lincoln or Cronus blew over the park.
Taste of spring rain booze breeze, tea head hawks.
Ancient anxieties wash over sunrise, go home!
Turn on with Edith Piaf, die drowning in her voice- Elysium at sea.
It is sudden. We must drink whiskey and join the circus, if only at the surface.
We’re all mad here so let us rest near weary.
The next train will take us proudly from brain to breast, escape great sorrow waves.
To be laying thin with cooling, Ocean’s West Wind.
Immortal miniature monkey men stomp and chomp, where’s the train?
Longing to fornicate in Fortunate Isles.
A cold spring day in Chicago, 4 years ago.