Chicago Weather – Without Using the Word ‘Cold’

Coffee cools a little quicker in the Windy City –
petty arctic air for-ces people indoors, it’s,
my park-ing spot I-called-dibs-it’s-not-yours, since,
I-dug-the-whole-thing-out early this morn-ing,
I coulda sworn only the poles would have these snows,
Sub-zero ice collects on my windows
as double-digit temps in the negative show
on the local weather reports, I’m mad out-of-sorts,
I’m daydreaming of the times I hung out in sunny-weathered resorts
and when people ask me “How bad is the weather out there?”
I kinda wish I had a more-better retort.
Icicles on my eyelashes, double-sweatered, for sure,
but you’ll still see at least one white guy jogging around in little blue shorts.
But apart from that one, brave soul, defiant of the day’s low,
everyone’s glad to shelter in place, and just stay home. -RSM

The S On My Chest

Something so soldered, spraypainted so sharply,
Spiraling, snaking, set squarely, centered near my heartbeat,
It’s a hot brand, scarred so deep,
a neverending feeling that I’m somehow letting someone down, even in my sleep.
Be it me, or the world, or the people in between, that one unchecked box on my to-do list locks me in.
Perfection is a religion with no salvation, and an infinite way to feel guilt and commit sins.
It’s a lose-lose when the bar is so high
that I inexplicably expect to take off and fly
to reach goals so lofty, grandiosely ambitious,
and when I fall short I blame my lack of wings
instead of realizing I may be taking on too many things.
We praise hard work and precision
to a point where a day without ‘being productive’ is regarded as a bad decision,
A lazy waste of time that lacks drive and vision.
So on my chest shines the red ‘S’ that the ubermensch-turned-comic book hero has long worn,
adorned, on my skin,
indoctrinated since childhood
to overachieve or die trying, either master the universe or regret being born.
The only kryptonite I have is my own scorn. -RSM

Through the Abnormal

As I wake up to grey skies shrouding the muted, orange sun,
I react with a subtle shrug; things have changed.

“What’s normal anymore, anyway?” Something I think to myself – an open-ended question with no answer coming soon.
We only have left a handful of hope, hanging onto ‘the usual,’ the baseline we all knew.

This year has been ripe with things that make me cringe,
On the fringe of science fiction, dystopia, and humanity paying for it’s environmental sins.

Common sense has followers, but nonsense has #believers;
disciples of convenience – masks, they can’t wear it, swearing they don’t need it.

The virus spreads on, even though we all know what’s best,
And fires rage out west – a bad combo for your chest –

2020’s been a bad year for the lungs, the eyes, the heart, the mind; life has shifted.
We carry on with heavy burdens, hoping the weight will be lifted,

we’re all tired souls, but love has persisted.

We fight for the ones we love through it all, we claw forward if we have to, so our little ones can crawl.
We still find ways to laugh, to make light of our collective plight,

we hold our friends and family tight, we mourn deaths and celebrate life.

Whatever ‘normal’ might mean next year, we’ll see,
But in 2020 – ‘normal’ is vulnerability.
Confusion is normal, fatigue, sadness,
numbness, exhaustion, hysteria, anguish,

new hobbies, revisited talents,
Zoom calls with your technology-inept parents,
Career changes, new dangers, politics vs. science –
And love is present in all of the above, and through the abnormal, love will guide us.– RSM

It’s a Catch 1920×1080

Right now, as I write this, my

Eyes get narrow, and focus in – with a

Tightness. A fight-or-flight response, my

Irises and pupils embattlled in a day-til-

Night war, they spar with bluelights

And UV and bright screens, galore..

Deadass, I’m stuck between

A nine-to-five and a lifestyle that

Makes it hard to look away from

A series of bright rectangles each day.My

Glasses are shielded, but my

Eyes still feel it …just another long-term health thing to deal with.-RSM

Fresh Air.

I’ve been trying to follow the rules, cuz at the day’s end

I’d rather end each day in good health, not laid in

at an ICU, or self-quarantining at the Day’s Inn.

I’ve been going on long walks

and having long talks with my most

loved souls as I stretch out my soles.

My glasses get frothy, my vision has
me fogged up,

trying to breathe fully with a mask on makes me feel all clogged up,

But on a walk last evening, I had a several block-long window of space

where no one was around, only my mask and fogged glasses were strapped to my face,

So I pulled down my mask and fully inhaled –

It felt like diving headfirst into an ocean’s wave,

Like the crusted cage encasing me was unlocked,

my lungs were unshackled, all chakras unblocked-

I felt free.

I grabbed a hold of mother nature’s hand as it reached me,

and exhaled, audibly as the sidewalk scrolled beneath me.

It made me so happy, with a smile so candid

to breathe a full breath of fresh air,

something we’ve all taken for granted.
– RSM

sdrowkcab

nehW I saw gnuoy, ebyam ekil thgie ro enin sraey dlo,


I detrats gnikool ta sdrow, dna dluow rednow


tahw ti dluow eb ekil fi hcae drow ew daer saw delleps morf thgir ot tfel.


I thguoht fo yreve drow I daer ni esrever,


ti emaceb os citamotua-


ti saw ym og ot gniht ot od elihw gnidaer gnihtyna, emityna, tsuj a modnar tibah;


gnikooL kcab, ti saw a citsiugnil tfig fo ym nwo doohdlihc noitanigami.


oS, s’ereh a peed kcabworht,
ot nehw I tup nwod, deppilf, dna esrevered sdrow ni ym elttil daeh os tsaf,


dna t’ndid ezilaer ti saw ytterp ssadab. -RSM

Along The Crescent Moon

As my physical body rests I find a dope lunar crater, as my astral self walks along the sun drenched moon.

I manifest my favorite skateboard, and do a nose grind in a goofy stance along the outer rim.

I feel a sense of clarity as the sun’s rays bounce off and shine through me, a warmth so rich;

The moon looks like a crescent shape from Earth tonight, so it makes sense,

that i look back at a certain spot on Earth, reflect on the very recent past and begin to reminisce…

I’ll remember gazing along the gold crescent moon and finding the hanging star.

I’ll remember the nerves that possessed me, until I realized I wasn’t the only one with butterflies, not by a long shot.

I’ll remember the way I felt when I saw them all, family, old and new, emerging in their Sunday best.

I’ll remember how love lit up the room, a warmth like the sun-a chamber of collective radiance across the river from my mother-metropolis.

I’ll remember having the best view in the room, as the master of ceremonies often does, and before I knew it, my job was done.

I enjoyed it so much, the one thing I forgot was where I put my nerves-they seemed to get lost in the rain and clouds as the bridal party, groom, and the bride walked out.

I’ll remember when the dance floor swelled, and food and wine surfed along as every tune on the soundtrack was somebody’s favorite song,

A certain kind of magic was created as we celebrated, the kind that compels the crowd to just know that this night would be truly special.

Only magical nights like these stay true, as we look back in the years to come.

I won’t remember this dream I describe, nor most others when I arise,

But as I slip further into a deep sleep state, kickflipping on the moon, doing a lil’ sleep-skate,

I look back at that spot on Earth and rewind, to the 1st of December, 2019, to one of my most loved memories; one of my life’s best keepsakes.- RSM

Seven Haikus About Life, And Stuff.

‘Beauty’ is the air

between your eyes and the things

and people you love.

Important moments

pass by so quickly, that we

replay them ’til death.

Intimate moments

with oneself are works of art:

Powerful. Priceless.

Life is a dancefloor,

ballroom dance moves are the norm.

I like pop-and-lock.

Staggering to think

how many realities

we’ve made, and destroyed.

It’s hard to maintain

a peaceful flow, like water,

but fires are no match.

Understanding you

is your most important skill.

You are worth your time. – RSM

Midwest Winter Grievances:

Ice and pavement mix together below my toes,

encased in old boots as I avoid the slick sleet, bro.

shuffling my BIG SHOES slow; that’s the way it goes when it’s Farenheit 32 or below,

and there’s only one frozen path, the only way to go.

All the flowers, birds, beautiful butterflies- THEY’RE ALL DEAD.

Only us humans and other annoying lil’ ICE DEMONS still reside right around us as questionable-ass rabbits

gaze at my apartment building, and scurry right past’it.

Ain’t much positive, winter is the fucks,

got kids digging out the car for like, 10 bucks,

all the animals outside look mad suss

and trying to hibernate on the weekends is tough.

Me and winter go together like bacon and cement,

the winter is a squatter in my life that pays no rent,

But, after 90 days (hopefully) it’s a wrap

Call the cops on the winter, watch them throw him in the back, damn;

Understand, me and Invierno have our moments

But he’s just a bitter old man, and his age is really showing.

The holidays are great, as well as my birthdate,

But apart from that, the winter is an icy ball of hate. – RSM

The Astral Movie House

What if right after your death you find yourself alone, in a one-seat movie theatre, where you arise as if abruptly woken up from a dream.

Your ideal self-image from your life’s memories is manifested, and you look and feel, by your own opinion, as the best you ever have.

An 70mm film projector flickers, and begins rolling a film onto a realistic-as-life screen directly in front of you. A classic black and gray circular countdown starts backwards from 10, in the clearest picture you’ve ever seen, anywhere.

The film begins. Your earliest memory in life plays out as the first scene. You are taken aback. Your emotions criss-cross and crash, and finally, you understand: ‘heaven,’ ‘hell,’ and ‘purgatory’ will all be experienced here, in this single-seat movie house. You’re free to get up and leave at anytime, but the thought never occurs to you.

It all comes back, a full recap of your now-past life. The best moments invoke laughter, tears of joy, leaving you feeling like a rejuvenated soul; while the worst ones trigger despair, regret, and unkempt anger, mostly directed at your past self. But not fear. Fear is for the living.

The movie ends, and as the credits roll, every name of all your loved ones, friends, family, co-workers, people you met just once, all scroll along. You are credited as the lead role, and the director.

There you are, alone in your own private astral cinema – lessons learned, emotions drained, and at peace with your past life – a catharsis unmatched.

There’s a red EXIT sign to the right. A force within you questions where it leads, and beckons you toward it.

You rise from your chair, and walk toward the EXIT sign. It leads you around a corner to a long, maroon-carpeted hallway ending with a single door. It’s an industrial dark gray, with a few scratches, and a worn black and gold PUSH sticker on it. You stop at the threshold, take a deep breath, push it open, and walk through.

You new first memory starts. – RSM