Chicagoetry: A Garland Of Moons

A Garland of Moons

I conjured a garland
Of moons, like a garland
Of garlic

To resist the
Vampyric gales.
Fat, full moons

Which dissolve
Into the great, black lake.
All because I insist

On existing.
And I exist
to resist.

I shudder in this seemingly
Nuclear winter.
One needn't a mind

Of winter, just a mind.

I glean the perforated smiles,
The walking without knees,
The barking at trees,

Yet remain militantly open

To being momentarily arrested
By a Great Lake sunrise in which
Low clouds become a great reef of pink coral,

A floating diorama
Of gargantuan flamingos,

A multitudinous, silent chorale.
I shudder and wince, gasp and pray
While forcing myself

Forward, to both that lurid dawn
And the next leering dusk.
I thrill at minute triumphs:

A perfect song, a brilliant
Trope, a brittle rain,
Angels tumbling through the

Vexing clippers, those bewildering
Upper-atmospheric shifts
Toward permanent dark,

Angels honing in
On our every rickety vestibule
And every sickly Vampyre.

I'll proffer my moons!

I exist
To resist.

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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.

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* Chicagoetry: The Book

* Ready To Rock: The Music

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