Chicago Blues

  Clouds ladle low,

  eating buildings,

  biting time.

  Between the city's

  aproned knees

  I am told a story,

  told a lie.

  She wipes my face

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  with washcloth sky.

  She breathes my

  skin almost dry,

  makes me younger,

  younger, and so,

  more simple wise.

  - Kat Isacson

  **Wrote this under the heady influence of Jack Kerouac's poetry.