July 22, 2014
Engaging keys to dance on the screen
a sticky banged-out sort of language,
eyes flicker-flash as they register,
each finely enacted word is painted.
Sentences used decidedly, discrete-
far beyond just average meaning,
right below the incomprehensible
reading brings light day dreaming.
Realism in lines, dots, and white blank space;
page-art, satire even written in haste,
excessive save excite, readers we do invite,
the slashes and dashes become grammar’s delight.
Ah, to scribe
Ah, what for?
Ah, to be a part.
Ah, what more?
Thoughts just come, one by one;
even when lacking to grasp,
some are produced with purpose-
others just come from the ass.
It is easy to complain, but so much harder to compliment.
It is easy to say we make, but so much harder to create content.
July 21, 2014
alerted bolt upright by a sticky sheet situation,
first hours of the day
eggs toast and hot sauce
back pains and skin stuck to the bed.
radio conveying news, noise, whatever…
life has been brought to my attention -social media-
ladies promoting sexism; life venting on things, ironically, whatever…
moving stirring sitting standing
fresh tattoos peel and feel like sunburns,
still drying to some extent.
packing bags, fingering keys, opening doors,
one way to the bathroom for relief
fake leather gloss on my bike seat
read something, anything—Nietzsche.
shower, shit, don’t shave
set- stare in the mirror,
look down to feet
making way, avoiding the cat and debris,
dust filled rooms, draw shades no heat relief.
sink filled with grease,
pressures such as time, hypocrites, saboteurs, hunger, cleanliness–… oh, and NEEDS.
hang about dizzy-clogged head
I should have stayed in bed
I should have stayed in bed.
July 11, 2014
tell of South Ridge
and distant relatives;
revelations such as this
come hard to miss,
a loss of words.
These were once
and crossed-out lists.
Rain drops tapping my head soaking my shoulders.
We drove there in the morning
to leave by afternoon.
Now, I stand here under
dark spinning skies
and hoping for you.
June 17, 2014
On a boat close an expansive dam
A boy accompanied an Old Man
Fishing for hours cold hands
Only to have come up few clams
The river remained rough
Water spray wet brown splash
Bubbles in the water swirling
Bottom of boat held beer cans
Farther up the boy could see birds
Up close to the tumblers brightly red
Over white-caps exchanged few words
The Old Man palmed his rod in hand
Lock and Dam 7 lent no pension
Yet many prospered in its wake
The Old Man and the boy lay patient
They trolled up and down, but had to wait
Ice coated concrete walls
With rope or hook they fastened tight
Daylight lasted only so long in afternoons
The highway lights suggested night
Untying they came undone
River smell and worms in hand
The fish on the stringer were meager
Pushing off they went towards land
They passed others by and by
Anglers that were mastered
Coming closer to the landing point
Lights on avoiding disaster
Trailing wake in full gait
An out-board went ‘bout 20 knots
Blackness and bugs flew by about them
As they came closer to the docks
Lamplight held empty parking lot
Shown just below the river’s edge
The flat-bottom came parallel the wooden structure
The boy managed at his sea legs
With a hard bump from running in fast
A rope was fastened—quick, and down
The boat made way with the water
The boy made feet with wooden ground
Cold rushed from the river valley out
Nothing held the boy more in life
Than to be out near the Mighty Mississippi
In the dwindling hours of night
As children we are exposed to habits which prove a tradition
As adults we revisit those events to see what lessons were given.
June 4, 2014
Currently my ears are to The Current:
1.) I need to do a membership drive.
2.) I need to tell you what I have to offer.
You may need me.
The someday sun guides these moments,
Skimming and scanning words for entertainment.
Dessa Darling writes of trendy folk
Sitting somewhere in Uptown
In a hyped-up exclusive dive
She frequents all the time.
Feeling somewhat deprived…
Locally famous can get you work—
Haven’t you heard?
Can one person tell us of life?
Exposing us to worth
__Describe what to like,
And what’s cool, new, and authentic! (Right?)
Mundane to old
Fresh to mold
Hot to cold
And I digress,
I do so, but
So it goes.
Who decides the content?
What did they accomplish?
A fine print promise
Only allowing what we should know;
Ads and Marketing pave the road.
Candle to the sun
Eyes attempt escape
Another torn notion
Another empty page
We read on:
We read on.
Their sales people and prospectors betray
Their photo editors have much to display
Constantly political in profitable ways
Constantly cynical; printing what pays
And we run off to a book, to a poem, to a forest, to a river,
To hear nothing but the truth.