It’s the street step sticky like mucous stained black sidewalk that reciprocates
Creeping nose like fatty beef & fingers crooked serenades
Out of the corner of your eye you glance the head in the lap, man stands up
Woman kneels down, green as gold in these lean times
Beggars would rather a dollar than a draft, you give wonderworld excuses
Vagrant sighs, pay rent on time if you can hustle another daytime job
Nighttimes filled up by the hunger pangs & fangs of deliberation about nothing
In particular, forgetting to call home, pay the bills & the other calendar day lifestyle choices
Another 1% interest & that credit card is going to look just like your birthday month

Picking pockets is about the sleight, look one way, reach another
The jingle-jangle Christmas bells of street Santas in Chicago sound like an off-tempo rhythm
1-stop-2-stop-3-stop-4-stop waiting for a cab as you spy hands reaching into valuable holes
Don’t stop thinking about no tomorrow as you spy piles of shoelaces burning in the trashcan
It is virulent this subtle almost being that infects negative GDP & all the petty larceny
Of foot soldiers pounding Circle & Mason selling chocolate bars with peanuts & without
For their fake charities, might do better good driving down the waterway throwing out dimes
Giving proper change plus 10% for every time you see a mother & daughter split clothing in two

Al’s #1 Beef serving up artery-hardening sliced thin beef sandwiches & hand cut fries
With “Best Pizza In Chicago” on every corner & leftovers sitting atop the trashcans
Universities a stones’ throw from soup kitchens with dignity & heart, you start now!
You only get one chance to eat everything in sight while the moon comes early
Finding yourself ducking into the alleyways & sidestreets & wouldn’t it be cool
If you found THE PLACE no one has ever been too, for your next birthday party
Instead of TGI Friday’s like Mr. Magorium’s Wonderful Food Emporium

Damn straight it’s Irish whiskey as you forget your family tree & limp across the cement floor
Drain the snake in a corner where you find a hole in the ground, leading to the cellar
Stocked with 30 year scotch passed down from generation-to-immediate generation
Fiercely opposed to delayed gratification, give it now, fuck it now, eat it now
Fights sit right up there on the wooden walls as great emissaries bringing news of failures
Dollar buys a shot of Budweiser & other formerly American beers

Fuckin’ love the Bears!, Cubs are going all the way, I got season tickets
I’ve got a reason to get up early on Sunday after I pinched the ass of the waitress on Saturday
Wrigley Field sits unreal on the Blue line tracks pulling you in magnetically
It is the science of seep routing for the home teams, buying jerseys, painting your face
A ruby red, navy mess that looks like you punched yourself

You can see them on the streets, round bellies, self-fulfilled gullets, meaty faces
Carrying bags that don’t tell, walking with a forward favor & smoking cigarillos
That never touch their fingers, porous lips & yellow fingernails, Payless shoes
Buying everything from boutique convenience mart stores, Lake Erie beer

Trade shot for story, trade whiskey for rent, trade temporary salvo against aggressive landlord
For a reason why you fell off the wagon, it is lonely at the bottom, we will join you there
We want the same things, interest on our savings accounts & a roof over all heads

There is no more argument about what is right but simply what is
I will assist you with the thesis, Willis Tower just doesn’t sound right so whittle away at its corner stone

Walk the streets day or night & you will find yourself in the shining stone inevitable
© Adam Bresson

An OC evening on plasticine deck chairs
And so that song’s gotta play
And so I’m gonna stay right here frozen
It’s a bitter still of nighttime
And the evening’s wrong for all of this
Red button pushed & hardened minutes ago
Offers an escape hatch & expired parachute to the loud neighbors

There’s still time to pull the plug, baby
Forget to cut the branches back on the family tree’s names
Forget to roll the dice & stack the odds
Handshake, thankless wanting & alarm clock ranting
To the dogs or whoever’s going to be the shoulder
To lie on, breaks the back & teaches your tricks
Waking up on New Year’s to a bloodied mess

Once I will let you call me by my middle name
Talk about the future like the present is the past
Talk about our numbers, lovers & letters
Re-teaching the order till it echoes & admonishes
Twice I will tell you the city & street I grew up on
My tiny silver suit & pink paisley tie
Fat metal braces & black & blue shut eye

Good for god & blue-light intercourse
Candelabra fingertips with star-finished nails
Candelabra fingertips when all else leaves
Vertical verdict comes down all horizontal
But still we crave hot dogs with green relish
And carrot cake from hilltop bakeries
Evil 1-2-3 so very jealous, you & me, of early bedtimes

Wake up conscientious & little strings & things
All over the 10 year carpet floor
All over a bed close to the ground for lazy leverage
Salvage titles with Nevada tags & plates
An elephant hanging right on the shoulder
Leaves the fire smoldering in the front temporal lobe
Responsible for eternal sunshine of the spotted mind

Take 19th street to the end of the yellow brick
I need a duvet cover with white-on-white flowers
I need a picture frame with symmetrical pink hearts
Commit the artifacts to a shelf then catalog
Curate & float belongings to belong somewhere
And flat-out drive home in the fogged dead of night
To resist roots & brave another half-life sunrise
© Adam Bresson

On January 6, 2010, I read at Barnes ‘N Noble Santa Monica. I read five pieces: “Wickedly wet liver…”, “Is Molly actually cross-eyed?…”, “There is a place on a map called Euless Texas…”, “Is it possible to write a clever country song about A.I.D.S.?…” and “Running like hell The El kicks out trash & dust down the dirty streets of Chicago…” Please visit www.adambresson.org for more poetry and writing. Hope you enjoy!

Almost said & choked up head
Sunday morning calling to say goodbye
To Brillo cream & little eyes
And all the friends that look like you
Winter flu, upside down
False stops & parking lot tickets
Your mighty M.O.

Was to leave me white undershirts & children’s shampoo
Door unlocked, bedtime inquisition &
My favorite lamp insignificant silver fleck
Misstep in the dark for locks & topic stops
Citations to precedence of three year tragedy,
Second act tree top, first time shaking off
Your mighty O.
© Adam Bresson

I’ve got crinkle hands
with death skin & the secret
in eyes is the cloudy size
of a slow beat beat heart.

You are given to hyperbole
when the arc of your belly
reveals the last meal & the stuck feel
of seconds underneath.

Scar over your left eye
tells people walking by
that you fight for everything why
with worker hands.

It is a sovereign aging that
leaves you wanting
what you told them you have
had enough of.
© Adam Bresson

I have never lived in Baltimore.

I would think that the barrels of live crabs
stack claws & tentacles vibrating with
that little red chatter like teeth.

I would think Inner Harbor shines urban bedazzled
with storefront come-ons & museums that house
the worlds’ kept but battered treasures.

I would think there are stories of fisherman who
came in from a stormy night & were given salves
made of beeswax & talc for sore knees.

I have never lived in Baltimore.

I could imagine it has red-brick row homes
with porch steps & front doors with
tiny stained glass windows so no one can see in.

I could imagine the local market
doesn’t have saladitos (salted plums)
or free apples for your grandmother.

I could imagine that on sunny days
women tan with aluminum foil reflectors
& kids bang off the fire hydrant bolt.

I have never lived in Baltimore.

I should assume it doesn’t have
the massive fortissimo sunsets of Santa Monica
& beaches that disappear into the vanishing point.

I should assume it doesn’t have
a 100 year old library that perished in the great fire
leaving only a holy-luminescent arch.

I should assume it doesn’t have
Sunday afternoon barbecues of carne asada,
roasted coffee & one-eye blind dogs.

I have never lived in Baltimore.

In Philadelphia the pizza was bigger
than three of my heads, cheesesteaks seethed provolone
& I kissed a girl with my tongue for the number one.

In Los Angeles I forgot about your
address & phone number marked “past” in
my directory but privy to hang-up calls, your breathing.

In Seattle I learned how to go uphill & downhill
through snow tracks, cook dinner on gas by candlelight
& what becoming like the person you’re holding on to is.

I never lived in Baltimore.
© Adam Bresson