5:30
horn rang doom
in someone else’s car
you pass by buildings
in chicago on the highway
this brute, this crackling honk
this wet cough, hardy humdrum
he walks raw step, he holds hard light
tonight he keeps us here
his strong arms won’t let us leave
deflated penguin
the necks broken
low air bird
bright as candy
child or adult
the inflatable
is a greeter or
a goodbye for
stale passengers
roasted in their own
perfume. come
December 27
pushed down
the size of a folded shirt
not to be seen from
until they breathe life
into the holidays
another spin later
i don’t see a plane
blank set, the group starts to make numbers
speaking into empty, pushing money further, hand watching, days on fingertips, letting the binary run, games with passing speedsters, knowing what to name the flight, scratching each itch, electric across the surface, the wrench pulling the season in a wreath, it’s like trying to find room to land as a father paces, bobbing the child, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3,
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dizzy turek writes in Chicago but is originally from Ohio. find all writing on: instagram: dizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzyy & twitter: @dddddizzzzyzzz.