THE BELLOW BRIEF
Tonight, this winter scarf is again wrapped
around me head. Tonight, I am walking slowly
through a wind and a storm, not wanting to go
anywhere, yet on the move no matter. Chicago
is never New York, but New York can sometimes
be like Chicago, with this incessant, blinding wind.
Careening around corners, high-flying things, updrafts
and wind-whirl, all manner of things being tossed about.
The mind itself is like a utensil at times like these -
tossed about too, swirled with bloody opinions of a
hundred different shades. The corner? I should know
where to turn, but don't. Face it, gents and ladies,
sui generis, I am authentically lost and just won't
look up, just won't look up at all.
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