Archive for December, 2013

December 30, 2013

The Artist We Hate

The Luck…

 

American Capital Art Realism, a simple unique optimism:

 

Americans think of money first,

Logic last,

And vanity before that as they perform their act.

 

They want to relax but they are so tense as they travel the tracks here and back…

 

Life Goals:

Find a fuck,

Buy a pack,

Fill a flask,

Count money stacks.

 

(As we keep making trash)

 

Find that others can relate to that.

Buy clothes tight, or get relevant meaningful tats.

 

On to make an impact, or just impact.

 

All for self, this act in fake abstract.

 

The amount of real ARt we lack…

Goddamn, you see what distracts?

 

[They don't believe their message, so how can we?  Plain Fact.]

 

Forget 5pm, it’s not even noon here…

Bitter, frozen feet on the sidewalk, somehow below the sky crystal clear.

 

To all the geniuses near,

I’ll give you a half-hearted cheers while I drown myself in this beer.

 

I’ve met about a million worth zero…

December 27, 2013

Smile

Smile more,

Whether good bad or ugly,

 

Who cares?

It looks lovely.

 

Big wide grimace yellow inside from all the living-leaves me livid.

Taught lips your teeth live within.

 

Open your mouth more for every happy moment you’ve been given,

And please just smile.

December 24, 2013

Holiday Travel (Momentary Transit)

Weary aside as you wake for a bathroom visit necessity,

Think on the moments in the days before and after.

 

Local papers-one, floods the space between the storm-door and the outside pavement.

All those left in haste, we rode in a cold car on a cold day making our cold way.

Watching the seconds on the watch while we wired the arrangements.

 

We barely made it home before calls came on the phone,

We were barely able to close the door and then came more.

 

Unpacking the bags, boxes, and misc. odds and ends, things that to remain we must attend;

Freshly wrapped holiday cheer, we lack the beer and calm emotions to be completely clear.

Snow bound home bound at the bar again with everyone here.

 

Losing all fear.

 

Found someone to care for the cat til we get back.

 

At the front again they look outside at the time we took to make it by.

Look eye to eye, all things on both ends are worth the drive.

 

Standing with heavy occupied hands a visible relief is let in the form of a steam filled sigh, used air from your insides floats and disappears into the star speckled skies.

December 20, 2013

The Shortest Poem in the World…

Is this long.

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December 15, 2013

College Park Cold Stroll

Still chill-tempered air looms about spines of bare brown limbs.

A distant Sun present offers no reprieve with the light it gives.

 

Standing Street signs,

Power lines,

And snow piled high.

 

A winter witness bends to nature’s whims.

Blood slips through flesh in faint blue veins as we just live.

 

This, as chimneys send indecipherable smoke signals into the pale blue sky above the hills.

 

Molecules tighten, tense, and slow their course together.

Through the dark season we trod along willingly as we try.

 

***

Visiting that shoveled walk circumference portion around College Park, St. Paul, MN.  

December 9, 2013

From Books to Blogs; A Story of Evolution

 

From books to blogs like cats and dogs;

We’re surrounded by a million writers with a million words,

Wanting to get read and be heard- absurd.

 

Zombies scare me less.

 

How to Be a Famous Writer:

Start today, don’t delay, and get on your way.

Print press doesn’t pay like they say.

It only takes a few seconds to change your ways.

 

Like Flies on Shit.

 

What’s an artist’s wage?

Cost per page?

Adverts?

 

MPR broadcasts their crying.

You’d think people were dying.

 

Do they even fucking read?

 

I could hardly hold back my laughter.

 

Then we look at progress, and the prospects.

Not finding a silver-lining.

 

No room for wining and dining.

 

You find that surprising?

 

No one’s getting fatter.

 

This hobby wasn’t to fill any part of any wallet.

Act like Author Gods but they haven’t yet penned their ‘Hobbit’.

Just minds and thoughts figuring how those unique (everyone) call it.

They were so close, but they lost it.

 

I want to vomit.

 

I don’t see.

They follow what they want to be.

Flee to the next scheme…

 

But sadly others have been there before; up, down, and in between; twice, three times, maybe four.

Do we need anymore?

 

Can we chart forward progress by going backward?

 

Recline, sit in a chair.

Analyze, document, look, read, compare,

Tense up and think about how life is unfair.

 

Are you prepared?

 

Open Market, Open Mic, there’s an Open Season on the Weekend Artist tonight.

-Awake and aware of the unawares.

-Happily, a positive outlier without a care.

Counter parts rest comfortably under stairs.

 

Understand the standard deviation and mean,

But not meaning to be mean-

 

All part of the artistry in the Minneapolis Scene,

Wipe ass with freshly torn pages.

 

Print press has changed throughout the ages,

And they present new material as if it’s not dated…

 

Faded yellow on a dusty shelf. 

He called it sleeping knowledge.

I think his popularity needs help. 

 

And all of those resources have been wasted.

They don’t factor external cost,

They can’t calculate their displacement*.

 

At least hope and ambition aren’t lost.

 

 

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Displacement_(psychology)

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December 8, 2013

She (We Met Up Again Tonight)

In tight black jeans that fit me perfectly;

White pills distract with connect the dots.

 

Downtown pale steam-filled air hangs overhead;

Presently cold defines hot.

 

-3 PBR’s and 2 American Spirits später.

 

I wait for my girl to get back home.

 

Suddenly, standing patient at The Light Rail station:

-Seems like ages,

-So many changes.

Our ears and lips occupied our phones.

 

Sit seat to the airport in heat, up, afoot, breath absorbed, as I walk forward thru open doors all alone.

-One step at a time in leather boots brown.

-Hurriedly getting aboard.

 

Looking around, there’s not much for people tonight.

A Monday, a frigid display of days to come, an opposite glance of the summer moments we’ve come to love.

-Ubiquitous dim light.

 

This ding-ding-ding sound as the dated capsule closes, and lurches forward.

 

Exploring diverse sorts,

Touching tender sores to feel more,

Rich to poor-it matters not anymore.

-Much amore.

 

Thoughts race:

Will she be late?

Will she forget the date?

Has she run off to explore?

 

Peace to war,

Snooze to bore,

We meet open arms to embrace, a feel-good support.

 

-Playing with you, fair friend.

Momentary heavy thoughts fill my head.

 

People complain about the relationships they’re in.

That is because they are not really in one.

They have not the strength to come to terms and begin one.

 

Self-respect means being honest with oneself, truly-without a doubt.

An old math teacher once told me, “If it works, it’s gotta be right.” *

We met up again tonight.

 

*Mr. Limberg

December 5, 2013

Frozen Life

Frozen face,

Rest of me layered like an onion,

On track-tragen,

Zen composer, it gets colder,

Every day here on out,

Nights we don’t leave the house.

 

Lights tell us the season,

I can see other reasons,

Frost on tree tops bare,

Everyone is hardly prepared.

December 2, 2013

The Sum of Small Parts

I am the makeup of freshly dead heritage,

This only proves my merit-age.

 

Bikes for carriages; we ride through lonely skyscrapers.

 

Sitting amongst crumpled papers and beer chasers,

Getting wasted is the only word-spoken disclaimer.

 

I’ll take your money; I’m a card-player, shark, dangerous-major, and one of the remainders.

Ask about my hand at 39’ sometime.

 

Language proclaimed loud and proud, with or without, making joyous sound resound between eyes of doubt.

 

Wanting to go home, 26 year-old- little kid, on my own in the big unknown:

-Advantage of Id.

-Afraid so I hid.

-We did what we did, called the bids and pulled the lids.

 

But, that was years ago,

Found time to watch blood and flesh grow.

 

Adult now, it’s my fault now.

 

I control me, watch and see.

What I am is all I can be.

I know I can pick friends but not family…

 

I am proud of who I am,

But I can’t speak for some of (and) them.

 

Then I think, like my Ma says, “you can’t win em’ all,”

And, “it’s thirty-six on Tuesday.”

 

What did I say anyway?

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