Posts tagged ‘love’

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 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.

November 7, 2015

sight from the sidewalk in a small town

sun up where
feet walk bare,

a leashed dog sniffs
at frosted ground.

gun shots pop softly
in a valley afar,

and barks from
down the block.

outside a paper
rests rolled, and banded.

here waving hands
move light behind

a pickup truck’s
clear windshield view.

chores and thoughts
in crab apple view;

what broke the day
gave back tenfold whole,

what chance had Chica
to have her piss.

October 5, 2015

New Cadence Apparatus

Dear New Cadence Apparatus,

you move me with your moving;

the artistry of your performance,

to my mind, is wholly consuming.

September 30, 2015

Natural Solitude

on an island of my own
staring straight into the sun
no fears are accounted for
with this nature i am one

September 29, 2015

Autumn Symphony

Shrill scratches, a leaves’ song
on the fade pale of a paved road,

in the early dead of night,
where empty streets hail—

the quiet wind that blows a debris
of dried fronds to clump and to fold,

only noticed as you sliding—go,
following you along the way home.

September 28, 2015

Red Wing on Sunday

We cut south as rain ran
off a battered roof in a gale,
marked with hard luck’s feel
we chose to quick vacate
the close crowded city.
Along cornfields & heavy trucks,
we drove into Red Wing proper–
dining at the St. James Hotel.
That what was left behind
was not as important
as what was brought with me.

September 19, 2015

applefest casualty

Those trees of the backyard
Through a naked window
kicked at my eyes while a truck drove
busy and loud in my skull.

The white beer tent last night,
with its sugary high notes
and crisply set carbonation
caused splintered synapse today.

And those leaves were changing outside,
and Dirty Jobs was on the set
and life was passing by momentarily
as butter rested malleable on a knife’s edge,

and in the dish, on toast, on pancakes;
between a paper, and conversation
about how this generation doesn’t get it
from another which heard the same …

Now, yesterday’s ideology was stale as the open chips,
and contrived but real and there.

My kindergarten teacher was my bartender,
her pupils were standing years apart
and side-by-side amongst the crowd
as a cover band played Queen
and last week’s hit single.

A flea market set up where we played as kids,
and mom had to go to the fest grounds
to help the church in bright light fashion.

Text messages came through
as I pulled the rubber band
off of bold print fragile paper.

The headline spoke of what was outside:
the backyard, again, window earlier today
—I almost threw up—
remember new years day?
and the champagne and its pain?

On the set was tanning leather—
the wet kind, grey and grotesque;

and in that flowery prose
was a half-baked sentence
which balked at this fleeting instance
of happening nature.

He said just take these pills
and don’t mind the stale smoke smell
of that crumpled shirt at your feet,

an hour later my head
became straight,
I dressed for the game,
and for the weather, and for the
cold fall to come.

It was a morning of remembrance
and a splitting headache,
thoughts of sweet beer and bubbles.

We were talking sorts in the dark,
in the night rain,
near tents and lights
and sound.

Many questions now…
There were no awards for 3rd place
in the poker tournament…

We have the hardest time understanding
that we don’t understand.

It exists because you hear it,
or you hear it because it exists.

I remember feeding the horse,
and then eating food with my hands…

As a loading television allowed for novel thought.


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