"chicago in november"

"chicago in november"

written (a)musingly by jake kilroy.

the worthless american godspell,

sinking into your seat

at a play you wanted to see,

but the drugs are too much

and the lights are too much

and the audience is too much,

so you slip out for a drink in the lobby,

sipping on gin you kept in a flask

because you thought it would be like soda

instead of the whiskey you had in the car.

this is the city of dim lights,

where the shadows roll dice in the alley

and you strain your eyes to see nothing,

brilliantly covered by a sputtering cough

that you call "youth in turmoil,"

until you ride the train home

and fail to notice all the gold

and silver and ruby red lights

that sparkle with emerald green words

against a white that looks stolen from heaven.

what a grave to make, so close to the suburbs,

watching over chicago's cemeteries,

clawed in grass, wasted in snow,

dazzlingly wretched in a winter

you've come to adore,

even when you sleep well in a basement,

praying to dead gods for summer.

so you missed the final act

and can't remember how you got home,

but you can sing the words you hummed to yourself

when you washed out your throat

with something you couldn't taste

before going to bed without a single thought

other than, "my god, what a glorious change love would be."