By J.J. Tindall
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.
–
J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
–
More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on July 2, 2018