Many Chicago Nights

Daylight is a short fuse without a finale,

That sputters into night like a junkyard car going seventy

Up Lakeshore.

For midnight philosophers

And

Chain-smokers

The day began when the wheels creaked their first inch forward.

Now for once they have plenty.

Downing dark liquor more for the lack of color than fun.

More to go from sad to solemn.

More to become the subject but ending up

A motif.

They toss gang signs out of windows

Like clumsy grenades.

Laughing and gone before we ever

Have to hear the explosion. 

More to prove one is hard

but ending up a vanishing point. 

Offering boiling blood paint

To a cold concrete canvas.

The point vanished.