March 23, 2015
You, me; us we—forward or backward,
together we are the same.
Parts of a carnal body, whole—
built of dust, thoughts, and air;
no scar is without a measure,
no action still unmoved,
shell of human being outside,
ghost of us within.
We are compelling a kind,
eyes peer to see;
from Franklin and Nicollet to NE,
Middle America to Middle East.
Still, forward or backward, we are the same.
March 13, 2015
As early March had come in biting and the best were kept inside,
a span of two weeks had passed slowly and sleep had become elusive.
Professors watched second hands tick and gave out faux tests;
these symbolic life quizzes—it’s who makes it who matters.
Desks became confines as concentration went out open windows,
to welcome hands of mild weathered-breeze and new-season sun.
People—tired students, red-eyed lecturers, they didn’t exist;
regular situations became stimuli for a stagnant comatose: why?
No answers formed, except that three days later a person could be a week away,
anywhere—abroad, nothing to do, only to read titles and books which please.
Yet we all sat watching that clock, it moved slower despite us;
now, it would have to stay indoors and assess classrooms of empty chairs.
Scholars and administration would hopefully be in Spring air, taking it in,
with a cold beer in hand and tender sunrays on their back;
minds would exist as empty—blank slates, to pen a tale—an experience,
with no thoughts of what was left sitting behind, with not a hint of rigor.
March 11, 2015
A few brittle flakes of flesh fall to
the standard grey University desk in front of me.
Evidence of one memorable bench-sit sunning had brought me gifts today,
parts of me and more.
They came in gaggles of yoga pants, sparkling wet sidewalk pools—dripping,
and the wafted smell of thawing topsoil.
These odors damp and dank, some familiar and sweet, natürlich;
smells a boy can never forget.
Sharing words of Baudelaire and Schadenfreude,
Chaucer and April—but, hypocrite reader, you are not guilty,
it is I with the pen and the paper and the view and the thought in mind—
These other student-creatures saunter forward naked, empty, out of
static blasé bundles of winter climes, too Springtime is due, unawares.
I smile at the idea of my taut semi-reddened flesh, dried and cooked
in yesterday’s ultraviolet rays—as my significant other warns of skin cancer,
but this is my proud ignorant trophy to own.
I can only thin-lipped big-tooth express, and fiddle with dead skin cells
as they rest on my desk in cross-shadows and heated-light.
January 5, 2015
We are made up of 60% water—
So, if we drink water,
From a different land,
From a different city,
From a different spring,
From a different past, present and future,
Do we become made up of something entirely different?
November 22, 2014
Sipping hot Chai Tea,
When bitter came sweet.
Numbers change degrees,
Perspective saw discreet.
Early time of day,
We met along the way.
Present here now sit,
A life made of odd bits.
Notice slight turn of head
Sparking bulbs in the mind;
Wait, watch, and reflect,
Faint to smell of Dandelion.
Supple as shone flesh,
One acknowledges dewed must,
Affective thoughts to pass,
Words spoke, open mouth trust.
Touching each endpoint nerve,
Appointing minor tasks-
Let eager subjects be served.
Sit perked straight up,
Lace bound tight round back;
Pictures opened doors,
Imagined forms one retracts.
That fiend- the mind, moves fancy to bust.
That fiend- the thought: human nature of lust.
November 16, 2014
This Snowscape so quiet;
Not a bird,
Not a car,
Not a sound…
Whiteness covers the world,
Layering atop the frozen ground.
November 15, 2014
We are dictated by ink and dead trees.
We create paper,
To be judged on paper,
To attain paper,
In hopes that that paper will put paper into our pockets;
-Paper for paper.
We are dictated by ink and dead trees;
Any way you call it.
Ink:: “Ink can be a complex medium, composed of solvents, pigments, dyes, resins, lubricants, solubilizers, surfactants, particulate matter, fluoresces, and other materials. The components of inks serve many purposes; the ink’s carrier, colorants, and other additives affect the flow and thickness of the ink and its appearance when dry.”
Paper: “Paper is a thin material produced by pressing together moist fibers, typically cellulose pulp derived from wood,rags or grasses, and drying them into flexible sheets. Paper is a versatile material with many uses. Whilst the most common is for writing and printing upon, it is also widely used as a packaging material, in many cleaning products, in a number of industrial and construction processes, and even as a food ingredient – particularly in Asian cultures.”
November 14, 2014
What play to our mirrors
Coming to for our peers
Gains a perfect little show
Moved to smiles and tears.
We cannot drop this act
Because of love- the fact:
That we are truly ourselves
Only inside of our house.
November 12, 2014
Follow steam as it floats
On our daily commute,
Orange eastern horizon,
Thoughts of warm soup.
Eyes locked on the bus
Swaying back and forth,
Come along on this ride,
Again, feeling so north.
Travelling tainted ways,
Thinking of pins and pine,
Bundled people walking-
Beyond the glass, outside.
Seasons to be discussed,
Roads to pass as we go,
Men in boots and gloves
Shovel hard at the snow.
Now these sitters travel
Careful as what to pack,
Each to make way here,
In hopes to make it back.
What more could we ask?
What more could we ask?