May 21, 2015
a waxen yellow glow on the Nicollet Avenue scene below,
as above heavens danced and sparked white
as now onlookers stood and watched.
The hum of vehicular masses turned to a city of cratered paths,
while people were lit as props, good and evil,
coming and going about their static business.
This nature in society, framed, isolated—what we have;
metal grasps of synthetic hands
coming to and shaping us,
to make up our wake up, to shake up our trust.
Bleeding oil, exhausting fumes,
killing cows, and loud preaching fools;
we exist as a populous,
with meaningful purpose, and American sentimentalism.
Illuminated here by streetlamp’s waxen yellow glow, on Nicollet,
under heavens about to open wet,
mingling with ghosts of our yesterday,
with whole cultures of churches and states to thank.
May 15, 2015
May 13, 2015
To post artistic criticism today is
to paint graffiti
on a chameleon’s coarse back
and hope for intellectual longevity.
To go against the grain, razor,
a sacrifice must be made—those who disagree give up
and fall into the fold: forty a week,
snowflakes in the sun.
There will be flesh covered in blood.
With ease we quote Bukowski and Palahniuk;
though who are they to us,
us to them? Thoughts?
Good ideas without action.
Bad prose and poems at times come in good form,
and are closely read: this by example.
A dream is only a dream if you don’t realize it as a goal;
awoken to obsession, to stop at nothing,
or anything, depending.
though a true course,
though a chameleon’s coarse back.
How long they maintain.
Qadri said he is not the same person
he was 6 years ago,
6 months ago,
6 weeks ago,
6 days ago,
6 minutes ago,
6 seconds ago.
I am though
one closer to being perfect.
…I guess I’ve changed
May 13, 2015
They sit high up over a vast campus backdrop watching
at those who pass fleeting along University Avenue.
Pillars which appear countless from a single sidewalk vantage
stand at the building’s edge proudly displayed.
Above the intensely ornate deco of Folwell Hall—rich education,
crimson and beige; their solid mouths gape, their eyes a dull marble
gaze at the coming and goings of those on foot.
Connecters roll along packed with transferring scholars,
people stand in peaceful commotion as bikes move fluidly
by in quick motion while the ground gathers unwrapped debris.
These statues hulk through the evening into night, fixed,
unmoved in necessary seasons, unmoved in climes and times.
When there is light the rays never escape them,
true, they never tire no matter the pitch darkness surrounding.
Hard fixtures as they loom, pressing, and they are rigidly forlorn,
above acutely exact academics, loose agendas, and airy aspirations.
A straight-line wind couldn’t take them down, gargoyles of the precipice.
Chiseled outlines grotesque, watching, in swirling noonday skies.
May 4, 2015
as an old house with crying floorboards in the night
and a consistent leaky sink by day,
our skin becomes bagged and heavy,
and as malleable as putty.
The flaws emboldened—highlighted unique;
the scarring acne,
the rounded blister,
the wine-red blemish__
All beautiful characteristics,
endearing individuality to wear at the fore;
taken by some as unwanted gifts,
to hide with powdered veneer.
We all fall apart beautifully,
as tight constraints surrounding
fast loosened chains
with our appreciative perspectives,
on “I”, on “me”.
We all fall apart beautifully.
The eye of the beholder grasps us at a midmorning mirror,
as an instant fickle judgement flees,
assessment to be critically free of our character.
There is only too much time to critique.
And why waste a seventy degree day?
May 1, 2015
a day, a day,
a day, a day,
a day, a day,
a day, a day
April 29, 2015
I would walk Central Avenue in soft
evening light, or go through Father
Hennepin Park around the same time.
A group of people to gather and become
pedestrians again on The Stone Arch’s
sandy beige bricks. To be seen smarted
by simple standing architecture, art,
and all of its cracked parts—the park too,
its sentiment with skyline shapes inset
in the distance, contrasted, outlined
in values: greys, whites, blues, golds,
and blacks. Shades reigning, measured
to a straight line and immensely looming,
cast down at those eyeing below. People
sit in fast passing cars, as those on
foot step. Thoughts to traverse, within
and without. It was another day to walk,
to watch, to wait, and to go, to move,
or to stay, on this dusk path through
downtown Minneapolis and straight back.