Illinois (I)

Another Illinois chunk, not finished. The first and only thing I've ever written whilst flying

for K.B.

   

Horror of loss stole happiness from her face and wet-salted my shoulder 

Soaked, I left weeping at M15 entrance - through the same gate as many, I walked, I stepped,

Pushed sweaty forehead against broad, cold pillar in a gray tunnel, 

Macho-man tissue scratched against my nose as misshapen thoughts swam listless, 

In that old paraffin tank of mine,

While I fumble for another tissue, old woman w/ little girl inquires about snobbish Red Passport,

“UK citizen,” I manage to unearth,

“Oh,”

(Turns back to her little girl) 

Whilst looking from beneath furrowed slits at my red face and puffy, watering eyes, 
She revealed vast reams of information in unequivocally beautiful, cryptic verse

The worldly slapping, curling and darting of her tongue, indicative of a lively past:

Fucking in Poland, drink & drugs in Canada and all three in Denmark.

Her little girl, quixotic and armed with two cameras, began clicking at painted woman clapped in British flag (and little else) on plane’s nose.

Aboard plane I note that sickly awareness of Self, 
Present throughout is the image of inconsolable K standing in O’Hare, clutching panda bag and blowing numerous exaggerated kisses to vulnerable King Kong 

Eyes burn

Self-awareness painfully imperious, 
Must not let this feeling rob me of such candid documentation, 

Pen-tip remains heroic, loyal - Writing as I gaze on the scalp of America,

“O suburban city ant-town which harbours precious bean..."

Pyretic, fair, Chicago

Illinois, the Gentle Plateau

O’Hare, thou argent clasp,

All three of you