Posts tagged ‘minneapolis’

November 11, 2015

1 part coffee, 1 part jazz, 1 part broken

i may be these broken
parts on the floor
watching steam rise

as a radio is
sounding thru-out the kitchen
with jazz and ads.

louis armstrong
is my close-knit
companion with
the trumpet, the band.

silence from the cat,
hum from the patchwork streets,
this is most likely
waking up in Southeast.

here is chemistry:
water steamed,
a rich coffee aroma;
a cracked door cold;
oatmeal, raisins,
and brown sugar, hot.

i am making this easy, poignant,
simple, needed, necessary

still sitting lazy style,
legs in a pile,
on the hard
wooden floor,

recounting when to
pour it all together
to that sound,
to that feel.

November 9, 2015

Vetsch Park

cutting through
the wet knoll,
green and heavy,
here let white
steamed breath.
a blanket of
fallen leaves
under foot with
stones and sand,
droppings of
the night, unknown,
as forms and figures
danced in shadows.
at midday this
lone foraged trail
at Vetsch Park;
start to go, climb to
god’s seeing eye,
climb to Stoney Point,
back to the cross, to
the christmas star,
back around to town,
back around on
this familiar ground.

October 27, 2015

That Sound from The Street

construction season
is over, it is no longer summer
yet still in the morning
a hum comes from the street,
a banging comes off of pipes,
beep-beep beeping of horns,
bells and whistles.
it starts sharp at early,
the streets are blocked say signs,
no one can park, and now
they almost shut off our gas;
we had to tell someone
because someone told us.
how do they fix things
this way, by digging hard
by going down and tearing up,
causing something new
to be half-assed covered,
a little bit more bumpy
something ugly?
i watch in the morning
from my three season’s porch,
i just stand there in the open
t-shirt and shorts,
wishing for warmer coffee,
asking for time off,
wanting a vacation with silence,
needing to make work
so i can construct my own
in old framework decor,
needing some sort of renovation.

October 23, 2015

Modern Eulogy

Now if you die
the newspaper will proudly display
the worst selfie that
you ever took in your whole life
on its front page,

next to big bold print
and bullshit ads and sports team’s
manufactured importance,
and then there is you…

How sad.

This image is
the only photograph of you
that they could find
on your social media page—facebook fame,
quick, fast, now,
through a Google search of your name.

This is the best they could do
for the article, for the paper—for you,

just by going
on the news of your death
and your name,
to your unique page.

I grab the limp paper now
and wonder,
does the family even know?

I wish I had coffee,
I wish other more realistic
less bias things
made the news…

Hillary Clinton goes to jail,
perhaps? But who is she
to me anyway?

No one…

See, I don’t care…
I am worried about my selfie,
my image, my name:
What they will show when I die
on the front page!

This is what life has come to.
I think it costs about $1.00 …

October 20, 2015

The Moon Died at Aster

a waxen yellow
crescent glow
descended into
the cutting tops of
downtown buildings

as we watched from
an open window
across a slipping river
in red leather
chairs and candle
light vigil
of some brick structure.

it was smooth
as Tullamore Dew
and matured grapes
in crystal glasses,

and silk stalks outside
in Oktober wind,
and crushed leaves
under pedestrian feet,
and third avenue bridge
loomed the same.

the moon died
at Aster, it was just
going away.

it was coming anew,
meeting familiar horizons
on a different day.

October 18, 2015

Northrop – Center Stage

… don’t
try too

truth is

October 16, 2015

Right (T)here

All is well when the lights are on.
I know someone is in.
The office is not empty.
I know something, anything is happening.

The outside world glows a peach aura.
A warm mason jar of coffee is held in my hand.
I note the orange chasing
up over a distant horizon.

We drive in listening to MPR news.
Cold is below trees in crossed arms
and a longing for warmth.
Shaking as it settles to the bone.

The fields are not frosted crystals yet.
How morning is manipulated from lush summer
to autumn colors to bleak black in white.
In months this will seem a dream.

The end is near and those involved understand.
Nuclear power chimneys back the brick façade.
This entire campus is a tragic set.
With impromptu scenes between.

Maples come nude welcoming along the walk.
I step through a waiting room maze.
My key goes in at the elevator’s threshold,
head bumps to the door.

Inside rows of lights cast down
to shine a mute tile floor;
Here was wood and leather,
keyboards and desktop screens.

And then I heard what was for me.
Comfort in words: it will come…
Just give it time.
As everything else, patience and fate.

Ah, the answer is there, as usual.
It’s right in front of me.
And the lights were on.
They were waiting inside the same.

October 10, 2015


it’s 8:45 in the morning
i lie there, still,
in bed as our
cat claws the sides
of the mattress
to bare insides.
my love walks
nude in oils
and a black
loosely hung robe
between doors
and mirrors.
her understanding
affords daybreak’s
and then we roll in
the painted sheets–
moment’s ecstasy.
and then
the day went.
again alone i lie.

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 23, 2015

whether weather

maybe rain
maybe sun,
maybe IDK
another day


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