anna kiss

Chicago Draped in Twilight

the city we live in is a great mountain

with hot springs jetting out like aneurysms

She in Chicago, with Chanel dreams

the flowers are labeled in their buckets

piled stories high

and the French memory jumping

ears pop, train ride,

coal-trap, smoking sunrise,

I am looking through these lenses,

I am asking every question,

she is searching through her shopping bag

for a definition of herself,

and the purse flies, coins drop,

deep breath, slow death –

the secrets of our city are buried between the buildings,

stretched colossal arms full of wealth upon fingers.

her diamond rings stick out like knives –

and in all this I have found that my poverty may very well save me.