The Song of the Lark Ascending
One day I found you:
on another day Bill Murray did too.
My head was shaved at the time.
It was cold;
Chicago in April.
I just wanted to sit
So I rolled my metallically frozen Chicago-Bean-of-a-head into the Chicago Art Institute.
The Impressionists were well courted:
I moved as a shy planet
orbiting quietly away from the parasouled social centre.
I spun rightrightright-
until I was pulled into a
small square of Space.
I didn’t see you at first.
I saw pink-
no I felt pink-
no not pink-
pinkorangered radiated into my skin.
You were there
barefoot and singing the world into being.
I wondered why Bill Murray
came to you:
he has money
to fuel his own pinkorangered sun
to keep him warm from Chicago winters.
But maybe both of our baldish heads,
in the dark Chicago April
and just wanted the wide
soft palm of a
to warm us, to re-centre our
Ginny M. Schneider is a human person living in a beigey suburb in Southern California with zero cats, but 6 roommates (which is comparable). She is trying to live out the West Coast Millennial dream by having a podcast and hoping her part time job pays her rent. Not to be romanticized, the state she loves remains on fire.
The Ekphrastic Review
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