Chicago -
By J.J. Tindall
The Ballad of Johnny Sunshine
If Johnny Sunshine gets the glory,
give grace to John Rain.
One type of grace is raw luck.
Another, the spry, elegant motion
of a youthful finch, vibrant towhee
of modest house sparrow
restive in the last dangling
autumn leaves. John Rain is silent thought;
Johnny Sunshine earnest prayer:
Posted on November 27, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
The Moon Must Be Heaven, Desolate
The moon must be heaven, desolate,
and every star a lost soul.
We have been to the moon
and found nothing, nothing
but stardust. We drove, played golf,
planted flags, with not a single ghost
sighted. Perhaps the ghosts
of heaven are invisible to us.
Perfectly feasible.
Posted on November 9, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
The War of the Rainbows
I miss the war
of the rainbows most
of the recurring dreams I had
when I could sleep.
They would kick-box
across the horizon
like giant pairs of bowl-legs.
Posted on October 23, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
My Bastard Heart
I mean to introduce articles of impeachment
Against my heart
For high crimes and misdemeanors, betrayal,
Corruption, lying, cheating,
Bad faith, emotional infidelity, abandonment,
Psychological cruelty:
Posted on October 18, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
Black Jeans in White Tel Aviv
I wore black jeans
In White Tel Aviv
Before teleporting to
Ponder the dusk of Tuscany.
You could dam the Mississippi
With the jeans I can no longer wear.
Enough about today!
Listening to dancers,
Ahead on rent,
Sustaining the loving lie,
The one that spares the beloved.
As if, during a recession, you stage a World’s Fair
Posted on September 25, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
77 Minutes After 8
Way past 8
I met my intimates
Hugo Himself and Mike Miracle
To watch the proxy war
On the big screen
At the Proxy bar
In the Village
On Damen near where
Sweet Alice used to be,
Posted on September 18, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
September 1, 2017
After W.H. Auden
“This is my shadow.
There are many like it
But this one is mine,” I thought
As I, uncertain and afraid,
Played with its shapes
While taking the recycling out
To the green bins
In the back alley.
Posted on August 31, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
Ozymandias in High Definition
Yul Brynner in a black skirt
As Rameses II, Prince of Egypt, literally
And figuratively leaning into Edward G. Robinson,
Proffering a ring of gold from the tip of a spear
For some solid intelligence
On the slaves’ Deliverer:
Posted on August 15, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
Bike on a Tightrope
Mid-summer sun almost directly
overhead makes a shadow
of telephone lines, like
a black tightrope,
right down the center
of a neighborhood alley.
Posted on August 7, 2017
By J.J. Tindall
Blues for Allah
“What good is spilling blood? It will not grow a thing;
Taste eternity the swords sing: Blues of Allah In ‘sh’Allah.”
– “Blues for Allah,” lyrics Robert Hunter, music Jerry Garcia
Commuting home
From one world to the next,
I watch
The expressway parallel
To my train seat and
Daydream of my favorite
Old god, Osiris.
Posted on July 10, 2017
