His SOUL rests on an indigo night in the rainforest.
It is away from taxi cabs
overpriced delis
red lights or green lights.
There are no economic theories here.
Only a Horizon beyond the trees.
I am back to sitting at my cramped kitchen table,
Watching the clock drip past 3 A.M.
Cigarette after cigarette breaks the boundary between me and the real world.
I wait for the train to pass, a rumble in the jungle ever seven minutes.
There isn’t a perfect formula to living in this town.
Thus the need for 3 AM trains.
It sips, stretches and hums.
It breaths once, and stops.
Taking only what it needs.
There is no energy crisis here.
Only the tall glass of Midnight Oil
Sitting in the Sky.
I forgot to close the bedroom door when I got up.
Even as the light glares on her back, my wife doesn’t stir.
She’s grown accustomed to these types of things.
I used to be a salesman before I grew up
And I gave her the best pitch of my career.
I wonder if any of my other customers are this miserable.
It breaths again.
This time in unison with the breeze that comes from the east.
Its does not move.
There is no concept of ‘Time’ here.
Only a Chicagoan’s soul
Resting in the rainforest.
A second train rides by. I’m going to be a mess at work tomorrow.
There Doesn’t seem to be a place in this world where I can sleep.
I need to work things out with the woman I chose to spend my life with.
I need to quit smoking.
I need to get through another night in Chicago.
And find a way to stay in the rainforest.
