November 28, 2015

If Wishes Didn’t Exist

I wish so much that I could change it,
just as much as everyone else.
The way you want something
and you really can’t have it.
Like to be independently wealthy,
or have the perfect dream job.
Only because in impossible ways
these entities don’t exist.
That sort of fading obsession
eventually becomes you—you are it.

In the morning from a deep sleep
the thought travels lifetimes
between two eyes, bounds up over
synapse, carries to perspire.
It is in you. And although it is there,
the momentary chill of outside air
seeing a banded local paper folded,
resting, stirs shivers, takes you away.

Some aspects are unavoidable,
some are just there to be taken.
Here is the La Crosse Tribune and
its pointed, objective, new words.
Picking up the rag, I head back inside.
I pull the band loose with fingers
and go at the emboldened headlines.
Thinking: how useless is a wish?
Thinking: it doesn’t really matter.

November 25, 2015


Some times
the world
will let you down

just to see
if you
can get back

November 24, 2015

Nowheres else

Don’t you know?

You can get it
nowheres else…

Right there it was
and then it was gone.


Like that lottery ticket found worthless.
Like that dream that you watched die.

You can find it nowheres else
but in your mind.

People talk different
but I dare you to try.

November 23, 2015

why i say “i love you”

saying “i love you”
is not a transaction.
there is nothing
to be given nor
taken away. it just is
that, something said;
all important, all
meaning, poignant,
but only if it is meant.
like taking a breath.
you do or you don’t.
if you do, you are.
if you don’t, you are not.
love is not currency
love just is simply.
and these things we
say make us smile.
and that is mostly why
i say “i love you.”

November 20, 2015

Sight Seen

Certain spectacles are just too beautiful to capture;
You’d have to of been there to see how free they were.

November 18, 2015

talk of reason

peering out of
an open
screen window,
there are wet cars
and pavement,
there are trees
and stairways,
and what does
it mean?

she says over the phone
everything happens
for a reason,
and today is
sort of part
of that.

it was an
email, an animated
interview, an
acceptance confirmed,
and then a wait for

and then another email.

someone wants
to meet you,
my handlers said,
so what do you do?

you walk up and meet them.
you tell them about you.

she said over the phone that
things happen for a reason,
as those sharp butterflies
in the stomach,
as rigid daily routine.

now here i sit
half a view seeing
it all, half a mind
for breakfast and
nausea, half awake
and sitting in half
a morning gone.

everything happens for a reason.
the reason is: I don’t know…

i am certain it will though.
i am not sure how long.

November 17, 2015

Each Day Now

each day now,
when you’re
the situations
that you have
been through,

and notifications
and calls
and scrolls
and texts
and scheduled times
and google searches
and how it holds,

from this what you’ve assessed,

your phone could
have died each day now…

so why mourn?

November 16, 2015

This is how it is…

when verbose people
hiding behind screens
say this
is how it is,
and thunder
beyond the windows
speak more
wisdom in meaning.

when a gut reaction
is examined
as hard “fact” meaning,
our degrees
and letters
and intuitions have
been burnt to ash.

stream of conscious thought
is the next
judge waiting patient,
wanting for
one more line,
one more guess,
for one more anything
contemporary to tell it
how it is–
besides them.

some existence merely
depends on
the expressions of
others, and
how there is no
fact in feeling,
no definitions exact,
only words and thought
to a person,
telling this is right
and this is wrong,
like they fucking “know”
the difference anyway.

November 14, 2015

Three Colors with One (of Paris)

There is solidarity abroad
while a nation is divided.
There is difference assigned,
as senseless tragedies occur.

There are three colors shown
with pictures of broken glass.
There are groups crossing lines
with lists & scores outdated.

There is talk of how and why
and who and what, unknown.
There is confusion on screens
and some parts of the whole.

And we really wonder about us.
And we really wonder who that is.

November 13, 2015

Bulimic Cannibal

A pain where
the cut came thru,
I was near
the sitting keyboard
at the desk,

reminding myself of social constraints,
my proxy to this place,

(I eat flesh.)

of the levity of my heavy chains,
the idea remains—

(Though I am invisible
and so easily described.

This is laughable.)

concepts to
contend or consent,

I can’t forget…
Though I try;

you see my given name,
my round face,
my old age,
my manifested gender,
my fast race,
and my American weight,

but not me—not what goes
in me or thru me.

(One can only guess.)

It’s something else that you see.
Let’s have lunch.


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