Advent of the Ghost of Carl Sandburg

Advent of the Ghost of Carl Sandburg

Sunk in the Freight castle of teeth,

sunk in Chicago shouting at an empty

sky, city is all that remains, scream

faltered and fallen back, combustion

and confabulation! A world of outrage on the ears!

Trapped in laughter and gnashing of teeth, the high voice

of the unpreferable mountain, a blue flash

sees the fruit-sellers’ acts redound here and there

and beautiful silent Pharisees, Chicago never been

of Ketchup and visions of a forgotten cycle.

Yet here it is! Willow Street, because in

every city, to the Do, follow the sixth line

to will and council (of gods?)– to there this common street goes

and is. Standing through it, in long flesh, in duds of dust

the blue ghost of outrage watches over his autobiography.