By J.J. Tindall
THE TIME MACHINE
Behold a bird of diamonds:
a stylized falcon, the treasure
of Jeweler’s Row,
redolent of crow’s breath, lark skull
and jay tongue.
It soars sitting still
in a lockbox behind a gun safe,
a representation of a dream, something
of a ruse, like the storefronts
themselves there from Monroe
north to Washington.
It’s like a wild-west movie set;
only the front walls are original,
a fascimile of 19th century Chicago.
So here the Green Line becomes
a time machine, a shrieking steel rattlesnake
back to the Gilded Age.
A designer dreamt a diamond falcon
now a legend to connoisseurs
and a hard-on for collectors,
a miracle of art, soaring sitting still.
And not in Paris, nor Milan
nor the dark mines of Zimbabwe.
This is a perfect dream:
diesel soot, stardust, train wash
and rat claw,
a perfect dream
in a ravaged bog
somewhere in time.
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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 January 11, 2013