Mauve steel extensions
become sky at twilight
as their tips scrape goose wings.
Feathers litter the ground around the girders,
forming small piles until whooshed away
by indigo breezes from an unknown deity
of incomplete wealth. All mortals quaver, mouths agape,
incredulous when faced with beams of such height
without visible supports.
Each post lives separately from the other,
though all rely on one another for morale
and some kind of root ball structure
that our simian species would do well to emulate.
First draft posted to WHARVED on 11/15/11
“Flick of the litter”
is what I said to my marmelstreusen,
that most genuflecting
of all marmalade pastry alternatives
to the average bear’s
amount of gnarled bark.
If you had trouble following that, I wouldn’t blame you. The above content was written by a computer algorithm designed to prioritize buzzwords and randomness over all other particular variables, with a penchant for losing itself in syntactical dross from time to time (occasionally inventing words based upon various pseudolinguistic principles).
That was a lie.
I am a human, and those words
were composed organically.
Joke’s on you, bub.
scraps of litter
like they have a
mission to distract
from the vague commissary indiscretions
plaguing our unions and,
generation of handicraft hamburglars
and overwrought Jangle-Changle Men——
while they can still stand
Stellar calligraphy adorns a battered page
that once belonged to a fastidious girl’s journal.
The loose leaf flits about
the intersection of Halsted and Lake,
dancing above and below cars as they pass by.
I risk life and limb——
actually, I just grab it as I go through the crosswalk——
and hold it up with both hands like a scroll.
It reads: To anyone who’s reading this, don’t act like you’ve found something special. I practice calligraphy at least twice a week and scrap the page when I’m done. You are holding Calligraphy Practice Page #46. The first 45 have all met the same fate as this one. Only time will tell if this or any other of these will be read at all. This may very well be an exercise in futility, if you don’t take into account all the hours of calligraphy practice I’ve been afforded. Doesn’t this script look good? It sure is a hell of an improvement from Page #1, and almost imperceptibly better than #45. I’ve scattered these pages across the city, so good luck finding other ones for the purpose of charting the improvements in penmanship.