Posts tagged ‘minnesota’

February 26, 2015

Bakken through Minneapolis

Night black as Bakken
oil, which malignly pours past silent
communities,

shipped in cryptic-marked tanker cars
under cover of darkness, rightly
so, they move obtusely opaque—

opposite downtown lights which stick to a wetted haze
in the distance, making this Midwest city glow
for miles—some say 150 of them away.

The shit we’ve seen, and haven’t.

That which creeps along can be found in a jet, in
a car, or on foot,

in hardened
rock snow-crust, cold as a
flushed-toilet shower’s mist—you know; everything
is connected, retraced, unplugged,
tubed, tied, aborted,
and rewind.

Truths for lies:
This is safe,
This is fact,
This in fact is safe,
We care about you.

It is snug-up, or snug-down, or
just snug enough, or caught in between comfortable,
and I can’t go outside,
I have to decide.

Then it is: A pub visit, a flipped
switch, a lit door in the distance—these
palm trees have become foreigners
in desert sands which have turned to mud
by native rain power in your very living room
by way of: your very hand;

the vessel you hold,
repurposed from some ornate
decoration, from some ornate
description, from so-and-so’s ornate party,
or from some ornate magazine—ornate parts
of these

-Cult clubs.

And that is life:
black as night as petro ships by, as exhaust fumes fly,
as exhausted you sleeps, you snore, you don’t think;
as an “elected” official’s bank account goes cha-ching,
as a CEO draws outside of the lines, and talks energy.

(of course we need)

as the air goes in and out
of his mouth,
and in and out,
and in and out—

Like fucking, really.
Hey, you thought it. :)

Humans without a care,
they are there happily unawares.

With smiles on their dreaming faces,
as that napalm tube rolls on steel wheels in their backyards.

February 25, 2015

Free Me

Blood for ink,
the page for flesh,
and few words for character
description;

their imprint does stain,
the pinprick storyline
of a feeling—

I would sit and count
for minutes,
hours,
days,
months,
years,
etc.

but sitting is not conducive
to good movement, patience does nothing
except waste time
and progress
and dull the mind…

They may say: relax, let it pass.

that time; what could be
a particular goal seen to fruition.

Those who hold the ties that bind,
the keys we need,
are working steadily behind my
eyes,

the nerve—these nerves,
and more; each synapsis connects to
the message passed,

this circuit board commanding:

a knee jerk,
a hand slap,
an orgasm,
twitching muscles going to
bed—as you rock to zzzzzzzzzz.

Found out in between,
no verse to discuss,
no song to critique,

just the rigid clock’s tick,
and those who run by it (and from it):

they tell us what to do—
how to eat sleep and breath—
where to be, what to wear, how to look,
when and where—
there—and how to see.

Now who tells you how to be?

February 24, 2015

Taking Tuesday

Waking to this early Tuesday overcast
Love and work scatter the wooden floor below

Amongst dust rhinos and smudged folders, as
Stacked bound books beg for openness

Violins float in the apartment, making classical
Air, as though class systems didn’t exist

A tea kettle is burnt alive at the stove top,
While I starve in scraps of last night, of last minute,

Of yesterday, and of the rest of my life;
These pieces abstract on this yellow kitchen table

The body is fine when the temperature is above freezing;
Spring is here, teasing us back out of our shells—

Newly just out of bed, just in new light,
Now is the product of our sensitive closed eyes

And a person should acquire all of it,
And it’s just the second day of the week

February 22, 2015

No Frac, No Question

When our drinking waters have been set aflame,
and we’ve destroyed our pristine rolling bluffs;
the people of the Coulee Region will be ashamed,
while the mining corporations won’t have enough.

*

No frac,
No question.

February 21, 2015

A Midwestern City

A Midwestern city holds its frozen contents—
These hardened pieces go about on their own.
Uniquely conditioned to unforgiving climates;
Still those passive parts make up the whole.

February 20, 2015

Make Everything

Make
everything in
life,

But
excuses.

February 15, 2015

February Forecast

The back-window view comes through plastic-split shades,
A muted setting of winter-barren under dampened-dim skies;
Thoughts of base raise in the mind question to go wander,
A forecast forlorn suggests: layer in bundles, stay inside.

February 13, 2015

Hot Bagel

Bagel,
too hot
for hands,
with cream cheese melt;
how you entice
me so.

No matter,
it is early in the morning
and I am hungry,
into my stomach
you must
go.

February 10, 2015

Grey Sky Day

Overcast clouds open to
A downfall of frozen crystals;

Which sparkle broken on the ground,
Under foot.

A straight wind carries me off – strong,
To far, to present, to past;

Grey sky day
Take me away.

Weather which is not to be overlooked.

February 9, 2015

The Traffic Moves Without You

On a bridge
In broad daylight,

Somewhere in Minneapolis—

Between something is the metaphor…

Below light rail trains and buses pass,
The sun is out, yet it is cold.

Alas, we have mirages in Minnesota too—
Desert quality right here, local.

I shiver.

*

The highway buzzes; 35W is Nascar, and gridlock, and exits;
People are frantic, manic and relentless.

Commuters are driving into downtown,
Between high-rise shrines proof sponsored by your dollar.

But you can only watch.

*

On East Bank:
Students are walking fast to class,
Near traces of snow, they appear fleeting for February.

Is it spring yet?
Can a poet get two cigarettes?

See what others exhale.

*

Coffman Union is aflutter,

Not with birds,
Or domestic animals,

More so with paper and motion,
Punctual devotion for the prestigious scholar;

Little trappings and emotions,
A queue to loosen the tight collar.

Trash bins stand, cement benches sit, and the air moves through carrying few leaves and even less sentiment.

Though, they are evidence of last fall.

*

A lifetime ago, standing on a bridge like this would have been the future,
But it is now,

Somehow.

Here is to another day in the crowd,

Somehow.

The traffic moves without you.

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