What we do,
shapes the lives
that we make.
What we do,
Another day of internet fame
Giving our selfies to the world
Loving fake realism abound
Bright as diamonds and pearls.
We could reflect on vanity
We could unpack and unfurl
This camera lens needs a model,
Please be the next Cover Girl.
Recent Art: The Truly Amazing
Handpicked; no filter, true—why wait?
These photos; we are scrolling pages,
Even on fine dinner dates.
Selfless as one must be
To take the perfect selfie
Relax and snap that picture;
Capture your inner luxury.
Becoming as real as we are,
Face to face with the stars.
Brittle leaves chased round a bus,
Clouds layered dark, hung above.
Traffic lights; sparked and changed,
Trees kept at bent in long headwind.
Walking stiff with faces downcast,
In sweaters—sweats; cotton warmth.
Moving towards bleak and gray day,
Chilled in each windowsill opaque;
Book-bags, pumpkin spice, cigarettes, wait…
One is made pragmatic by experience;
A grave man
Speaks grave words
Of which the living cannot hear.
I would not spend $50,000 to buy shit.
Old-time orthodox tradition;
If fish didn’t kill themselves
By swimming out of water
We wouldn’t have cellphones.
Relative relations wouldn’t spring so fast on advantage.
Men wouldn’t stand on two legs,
Or breathe the thin air.
Or Fuck or Fight,
Or even care.
What is art for?
Based on rhymes,
Behind closed doors.
And then they tell us to read:
Edgar Allan Poe,
Where “Lawyer” isn’t even a Word…
-Small town folk,
With small town ideals.
Maybe I’m joking,
Maybe I’m ForRealz.
Because I am
Cut from the same cloth.
Then they tell us to fit in this:
I was merely stuck in a book,
You merely read some words.
If things weren’t going for me
I’d probably too act on urge.
Now, how does one do the first part again?
Even the morning seems acutely somber
Broad clouded skies hold steady longer
Green leaves thick ripped from their place
Void departed relatives we save nigh space
Juxtapose this deep cutting- chilled contrast
Waiting for summer’s waning neb to fast pass
Vexed by cruel and unrelenting, stiff nature
Fool-heartedly with their lives they wager
On a single day we wish to stay the same
On forcible winds we wish to have changed
Man can live amongst this time and watch,
As he winds the seasonable swift ticking clock.
If you treat
This is Art.
Sometimes clattered on the desk,
Wearing his nails long;
Hollow bones or dead teeth,
Moving with gestures-
-Words on gender and pleasure.
One must point the finger
In a mirror
To find out.
Once to be challenged
Once to be inspired.
Ah, the English Major exacting his critiques on me…
God save silence, God save Education, God save humility.
Strong Autumn winds blow in;
Through trees, on a whim- these limbs,
and shadows made of them.
Exhausted year, once again…
Biers and tears,
Free and easy,
Mind’s been cleared.
Coming up wasted and frustrated-
Elliot Smith came up roses,
Empty handed impatience,
Changing mindset with practiced poses.
Some of the best luck of all time,
Some of the unluckiest best times,
Some logic takes heavy loads off minds.
Some laziness, what!? -The awful crime.
Round corners above pavement,
On a bike,
Life is dangerous,
Backpack filled with book pages,
Summer’s gone recently, but not for long,
This weather; indifferent, right, or wrong.
The Midwest is at least unique in that it is unpredictable in clime.
And I imagine Simon and Garfunkel will enjoy their vodka and lime.
Situations ( how I talk ): drinks after class
I’m at a convenient store on West Bank
Dust blowing in the wind
on a partially torn up sidewalk,
At a convenient store on West Bank
I’m in line to get cigarettes,
With a friend,
And my contact falls to the floor
Blurry and shit,
I can’t see…
It’s on the ground,
Patting my shirt, do you see?
I gleam the phosphorescence of it in the dim florescent light,
On the dirty floor,
What those had tracked in,
I pick it up.
Ali’s behind the counter selling cigarettes
Big bright smile
Looks at me
Hey, do you have any…
He doesn’t have solution;
But he can help,
Standing there, palming the lens
I tell him to give me some Visine
I unbox it
I pop the top
With the ease of expertise
Sit at a table
Some people are eating,
They get up and leave
I’m putting my eyeballs in.
Wetted the crumby table,
then I could see.
I wiped up what I had spilt.
And put the bottle in my bag to leave.
Thank you sir rang aloud as bells on the door-
Happily no longer in discomfort,
Then I walked across the street to Palmer’s.