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At Wrigley, the Cubs are hosting the LA Dodgers. A doubleheader. And I’d like to go on a two day minor league bender. Booze with a buzz for about 48 straight. Or some reasonable facsimile thereof.

Don’t judge. That inclination suggest my frame of mind and physical disposition has moved past these years of pandemic induced temperance, and ready to rock and roll the rock away.

Sure there are to be more viral variants and a subsequent collective vacuousness, but verily I say, I gotta go out and play.

I know this because I recently got some new computer toys. And you know what, those bit and byte baubles are still in the boxes they shipped. Unopened and serving only to change how we’re navigating about our abode.

I need to hear the talk on the street. I need to eavesdrop Mag Mile hotel bars, uptown sneak joints, South Side sport bars, and North Shore hole in the walls, all to back door dialogue about what the peeps see in our near and dear and maybe full of fear future.


Yeah, OK

And Three Old Poems In Tabs Or Accordion

Went The Way

Went The Way Of The Supper Club

I want to take
my broad to a
Supper Club

I want to take
my dame to a
Supper Club
for a
“Steak Dinner”

I want to take
my tomato to
a Supper Club
with a Big Blue
neon sign
that hums
“Cocktails“
and then hums
”Supper Club“

I want to go to
Big Al’s
Little Margie’s
or the Cotton Club
Supper Club
to order that martini
dry
that steak blood
wet
while listening to
a sequined canary
cover Rosemary
and over tip that
hat check girl on
her way to
Hollywood
or maybe back to
high school
and drive home
with the top
down
and desire up
to fumble and tumble
hot to sleep
the cold war
sleep of that
” American Dream“–
now gone the way of
the supper club
and The CCCP



Cover Art

the aggregate of my many grievances
numerous as those sand granules
that occupy Oak Street Beach
occasionally hit me wave
after wave…

A high tide
of bad timing
and low energy
and emotions
damp to needle

And for the record:
the slightest scratch
often produces
the loudest ouch


I had fun watchin’

SUNDAY SUPPLEMENTS

Damnit —
There is no method in motive or madness
No way to file
or find fast
the particulars of character.

One’s makeup is motley
Disposable and scatter-shot
Like the Sunday paper on late Sunday afternoon
The personality of supplements.



A Great Version

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