Raging Fudge by Richard J. Fleming

1

We didn’t arrive until tomorrow. By then, it was already too late to avoid another rowdy tea party by the light of a Bunsen burner. Hot air balloons of free speech floated by overhead. I could hear the epileptic crooning of narcotic pilgrims in a borderline district.  A city of tents grew up overnight.

2

Straw taxpayers simply expired. The umpteenth auto passed by. A busy thoroughfare stretched from the future of fantasy football to the incendiary maw of the fifth estate. Inertial misconception in the flurried byway, was sincerely out of synch with the chant of reliable and domestic help. A vast array of janitorial products in the quivering glass of a bustling, business district, demanded our homage. It was understood, the tallest building in the world was there to worship.

3

Outside the tetrahedron raved the rotating night. No other mid-night came so close to striking a bargain with a spectral fortress of febrile imagination. Some of you are maybe wondering, how  this drama glosses over a shady childhood?  Citizens slog along to ideal desires. The mystical requisite whistles while you work.

Richard J. Fleming is a survivor of three Chicago blizzards. He has recently had poetry published in Right Hand Pointing, Otoliths, One Sentence Poems, Unbroken, Poetry Super Highway, Rattle, Stoneboat Journal, Slipstream, and forthcoming Hotel Amerika & Sugar House Review. Right Hand Pointing published his first Chap book, Aperture.