chairs

I guess it was all about chairs. A place to sit down and collect myself amid the chaos around me.

Waist deep in the measures of bad news and broken expectations. Bush years. 20's gone weird, almost as I'd hoped they might. Anything to break away from the sad silence of windy chicago fields planted with grey memories.

To sit far away from the fields in plush acceptance from the cushion beneath me. Yes, that was what I wanted.

This city, with it's jumbled ethnicity and mixed-up defense mechanisms--this dream became my own and I fed on it's confusion. Contributed to it's polarities. Set-tripping and maneuvering. Made plans and love. Little money and visions held & followed. Peace Frog and LA Woman. All felt from a chair.

It was some 'time of life'-as all times are. A place to be. Is any place the right place to be? If it is, how long can it stay right before it dissipates and reforms in another location? Beautiful city; the more I lived in you, the bigger the question got.

Is it the ground or the ether that controls us all?