If Chicago Could Think

Standing on a transparent ledge,
You'll see nothing but steel beauty
But look closer, squint both eyes
And my streets turn to rubble
Washed in White

Alien accents driving
Lipgloss-covered taxi cabs,
More entitled to my streets than
Wisconsin in the back, who says
God Bless

Jazz simmers from open windows
Tourists lose themselves in slices
I stare into a mirror made of coffee

And my reflected silouhette is crookedly

Beautiful

The hungry help the starving;
"Will tell joke for money."
There is nothing funny about it,
But pale faces crack into smiles
Anyway

Wind coming off the River
Sweeps violence through
My heavy doors with a whisper,
Evolution with each revolution,
I Promise

Note: edited version