a city at night; removed from culture.
so much so, that god has to be sold in dime bags.
leaving the doors open in our minds;
but sometimes, a fearful reality overtakes an idealistic mentality.

illuminated in the distance,
the skyline is only as real as heaven.
reality is a matter of perspective,
and i'm looking in the wrong direction.

in this little puerto rico,
the boys play checkers at the catholic church.
kings are made up of red dots. black dots.
checkers has no place for an american reality,
painful and bleak as it is.
checkers is a symbolic longing here;
where black, where tan, often meets red.
and kings are overthrown every day.

here is where the skyline is heaven,
and i'm on the edges of the city.

08/02/2003

Author's Note: the second poem in my chicago saga.

Posted on 08/03/2003
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams