By J.J. Tindall
Strawberry Town Forever
The objective remains
a vision in the mist, the other side of awesome,
like the Cheshire smile of a lemon leopard,
like the Sphinx, Cheops of Giza,
at dusk. There beneath the black
suburban skies, the objective remains.
Let me take you down cuz
I’m going to Strawberry Town.
East of Krakatoa,
west of Gaza, past awesome
to Strawberry Giza.
There’s a candy factory there
which perfumes the air.
It’s remarkable.
Lemon rain
and a black strawberry breeze.
Verifiable physical phenomena,
an going concern.
Catch that buzz, the Western 49
where the drivers have looking-glass eyes.
Sit back, to the right,
check your looking-glass
and listen for the bells.
Change to the Blue Lime train, shit!
The Blue Line! Wait!
Change to the blue lime then
picture yourself on a train in a station
with plasticene porters
who call out the stops.
Eerily, a calm, invisible male,
sounding just as slightly drunk each time,
sets ground rules
and calls out stops.
Climb in the back with your head in the clouds
and you’re gone!
Big, blue lime,
soul train to Giza,
a category mistake, a simple typographical error,
a willful misapprehension of data
west into the Electrified Forest,
past the Butterfly Hospital
and the Rue Morgue,
through Gaza, past awesome
to Strawberry Town. Once lost now
found, dying to take you away,
turn you on.
West of Gaza
where the shadows simmer
with remaindered bells.
Always listen for the bells.
They leap skyward in sharp tombs
and remain imprisoned.
They call out with dusty tongues.
Too much horrified to speak
they can only shriek.
In the bosom of the palpitating air
they’re always there.
Finally, in the gloaming, it looms.
At dusk, in silhouette,
the Basilica of the Lemon Ra.
Lemon dew, strawberry dusk!
Lemon steppe, strawberry husk!
Not mirages of match-stick men
but verifiable physical phenomena,
an ongoing concern. Objective achieved!
The reticule of Strawberryland!
Lemon Cheops! With a big, electric smile
that lingers as the body disappears into the
black strawberry breeze…
A remarkable strategic triumph!
Sympathy and trust abounding in this dusky
jewel we hope to pluck.
But then you gotta
go back.
Don’t spoil the spell
by fixing to dwell.
Sniff the air, say a prayer
then get back, Loretta.
Strawberryland abides,
mystic crystal revelation.
An elusive confluence of variables
which induces an aria of little bells
and the rapture that impels.
Once, forever. I shall always pray
to recover you.
Ach, du.
Get back
from Giza
past awesome
through Gaza
to the moaning and the groaning
of the bells.
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Previously: Big Fat 49 To Strawberry Town
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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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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* Kindled Tindall: The Novel
Posted on February 17, 2012