Grey Skies of Chicago, Part 2

It is not the isolation of which the soul yearns to fix. No, it is.
It is the solidarity of which the mind yearns to experience.
Community of the soul for the soul needs rest.
Soldiering for the mind for our minds are a nest
Of burning bushes and childhood lullabies
Where relationships end right and lives
Have reason to fight.

I tire of a mind that wonders too much
And analyzes for the time too much
And tries for the time too hard
On things not known the better of.

Black wool under white snow flakes
Shivering against avoided cold
Shoulders parallel to the abstract
Painting, streaked with reds
And golds and pinks and greens.

Great Little Dilettante

Take the helm and point it east
Toward city-skies and culture feasts
'Cause for the eyes I love the beast
That fathers open-minded feats.

Marrow runs in sidewalk streets
Where chance smokes and breathes the yeast
For in my time and in my least
Allow valor before I've ceased.