Chicago A Concrete River I Miss
There's a tribal Native American Ojibwa spirit hiding in Chicago
A Thunderstorm Of Words 4 Chicago
Winds rushing past on Lincoln Avenue gravel
Asphalt and lots of grit mixed with gasoline
There are cars racing by in monotonous buzzer patterns
Bubble gum oily and grey and dirty mixed saturated with bacteria
Turning rolling broiling into black and blotched numbness brains
A forte of humanity lying prone on the roadway
Waiting patiently for bicyclists to fall upon and rub cheeks into
Roaring like a ravens wing in a windswept dust carpet
Tunnels of time and paychecks
Go drifting into forever or at least until Armitage Avenue
Then Lake Shore Drive whistling forward lysurgically acidically
Upon the Drake Hotel
Michigan Avenue girls sailing short skirts
Lushness sexy madness
Waving into the night the lakes waves rolling and rolling and rolling
Wondering where are the sturgeon and coyote trapped on ice floes and in delis
Somewhere a young man with an old man's spirit is riding on eight wheels
Bringing bad news to the city
To pay for raw fish and underwear and desires of the hungry platitudes
Still there's no place for a lost soul
No misfit oil painter
No room in an Institute of Art
Only room for mockingbirds and demagogues and sycophants
Only rewards for antiunion union workers clandestine shit piles
Oil wrecks called actresses all petroleum in spirit
The Swiss Hotel treatment is like a white satin mistress
Tearing at something buried hidden
A wondering mystic lost in a tribe in a country forgotten woods
A pulsing quasi star maybe planetoid maybe hot dog with celery salt
There in the quiet crying sometimes
In sadness
Sometimes
In joy
A man dare an artist or poet or lumbering oaf of rye withering greens
More words from poet Ben Zoltak
- Ben Zoltak on HubPages
I am no longer an innocent man. I am an oil painter and a writer and some days, when the sun shines through the mist in the air and the birds...
- Power Full Moon
This photo was taken at 2 in the A.M. after I was stirred awake by a dream. My eyelids shake like rose petal thunder to A dazzling graph of red, orange, yellow and silver Rattling my bones like...
- Ode To Poe: Oh Nasty, Smelly, Stained Carpet
Oh nasty, smelly, stained carpet You are a dead Mammoth In my abode A dead Mammoth That throngs of drunkards and Poorly groomed dogs Have micturated upon Nasty, Smelly, Stained Carpet Though I spent...
- An Artist's Dream: Oil Paint, Heirloom Tomatoes And A Turtle Pond
From the Oil Painting: Dancing With Black-Eyed Susan by artist Ben Zoltak Most of my early life, when I told people I was an artist, they generally sneered and scoffed at the notion. "You'll never be famous....
- Undercover Prunes - A Poem About Dried Plums
There is a secret on the street, in the alleyway, in the woods. Whispers hidden behind snickering faces, making even carnivores blush. Something so old fashioned, something that brings old folks gains ...
- 8 Fourteens 3000 Wandering Stacatto Canvas Satellite Connections
Ben Zoltak Maul 2010 Worm Heaven Traveling Fever Best Caffeine Broadside Uruguay 5007 !!! Bramble Neanderthal withering fortuitous velvet dinner? Why not? Super compass silver diamond river flapping...
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