Prolouge
July 4 was a fine day but
for the Dresden of fireworks
which rang out—obscene—ceaselessly
as fruits grown on the drooping boughs of trees
Some—or one—I don't know which
must have found an errant stitch
of flammable fiber, or else a
disused watertower (who populate
Chicago since the fire) and started
fire.
Sweet Ignis
Sweet Ignis, who like a well-
ing spring of heat, rolls up & out
as if to point to the spark of it's ignition.
And water falling couldn't squelch;
no retardant foam or liquid. It's
somehow overturned insipid and
long-held beliefs of plasma
and it's states of being.
The quickly darkening white ceiling
the scorched red suede settee
the fleeing children and their hobbled
fleeing families.
a Fragile Bunker
Therefore; don't underestimate the
grandeur in an arduous task.
like breathing through a charcoal mask
or climbing over ever-growing piles
of rubble.
Escape: who like a shaking, screaming head on bed of lettuce
watching from an elevated place
or places
through a floor
made up of some new glass
that will bend.
And through that tower's cushioned end
of metal—that won't melt.
Being Far Away or Platitudes
So distances have made the heart
grow fonder. And juxtaposed
the city's massive flame from
distance on the central plain;
the blip on sea of a transponder
awaiting rescue.
And hearing of the rage, just laid
in bed without a thought toward
it.
Whose ruined things and third degree
burns; whose curling Pergo hardwood floors
Which episode of which will I be missing
while unrepenting twitch response omitted
and admitting?
Getting Out of the City Alive
Not breathing.
In cessation of the soul's own will
& the lint trap is an empty till
of hair's ends: black and short
The turbulence during
the outbound ride, the chaffing of your skin
—it's hide. The leather strapping
of restraint on lap is pride.
The crossing of a long forgone suspension
bridge
laid across the river's northern edge
& draped sedately out of mind.
And reaching ground on it's far side;
just cried and thought of those who've died.
In some rotting
perilous reside.
Playing with an Injury
Finding what is literal in
talc
and being on the wave
of what's not felt before
you; having lost the sensory
nodes in your fingers
& your toes.
You're laying in some deft
repose. and paralleled
in the quiet anguish of
replication. You both
in bed, and still; two places.
the Empty World
They were right when said
that the world will end by
fire, or by other means.
But what if, after Christ's return,
our sun won't grow but stay
where it is.
And all of us, raptured one way
or another, and left finally the
stewardship of our hovel
to dawdle on in
some nothing.
Still dancing slow with glittering points
of light from a firework let off
too close.
The hiding in a swimming pool, the anxious
causing nervous drool in stagnant rivulets
down chin.
Pennance
Even non-Chicagoans
are residents today.
Dropping things along the way
and trying to find importance
in the missing of them.
And being implicit in
their misplacement
—But turning a blind eye toward that.
Leaving fingerprints
in dust, and referencing
the rubbing off of rust
or build-up through
repeated touchings.
Finding some evidence of things lost,
finding proof in every passing face
of sons, and brothers
torn asunder. Listing mothers
falling back and being caught
at the mention
of the others far away.
Distrusting all reportage
on the subject, however
well reasoned,
or soberly delivered.
Not taking credit for
other lapses, as the
purview of the disbeliever.
Chicago Fire
And in the end even more
of it burned than in the first
Chicago fire. Not just down
-town and around the loop,
Over the river's north side both
times.
