Posts tagged ‘MN’

December 18, 2014

I’ll Call in Sick for You*

Are you at work?
Are you really sick?
If it is so,
I’ll help you with this.

You don’t feel well,
You feel pretty bad,
I’ll call your business,
The results are back.

May I speak to the boss?
Is ______ in right now?!
Well, let me tell you
They must leave town.

It doesn’t look good,
They’ve tested absolutely sick.
I’m Doctor Terry,
I’ll attest to this.

They should be released,
Purpose: to get better;
Especially in this perfect,
Warm, sunny weather.

Telling it to them straight,
So you can leave work-
It’s worth it to go,
Get from life its full worth.

Trapped in a cubicle walls seeming beautiful;
The wonders are outside, if the truth be told.

*For AKA.

December 16, 2014

a city shell (and individuals)

Fleeting acquaintance which grew like trash
As each fickle feigned word exchange passed,
Few thoughts ring true while coming through
Comprise this changing layered bunch of you.

December 13, 2014

On the Corner of Washington and Oak St. SE (Finals Week)

Where snowmelt and papers
Coalesce in the street,
Tense busy-minded scholars
Move fast on their feet.

December 12, 2014

Winter 2014 (On: Summer 1969, by Seamus Heaney)

Thoughts of reading a text by *S. Heaney,
Bits and pieces of dewed Madrid,
With heavy inflections of Hemingway,
Scattered about within. Bull horns
And drink, and women, and sex. Smell
Of skin, fish parts, and molded excrement.
Emitting and emoting the pawing presence
Of death; Protestant and Catholic,
Rebellions over said claims.
There the air held hot, as one without water,
Lacking, in a vast desert, as a drunk’s hung-over
Morning plight, -head-spin, praying for the noise to fast die,
Lavishing in Great Lakes of the mind.
He spoke of letting it go, as in
Sobering up, as in really feeling this event.
He had been fearing the gun holster
And lack of action in present. Admiring the man
Who hand-gripped the cold barrel steel, afraid to notice.
But all those bleeding bulls, and fish debris, and local
Women, and spent shells counted. Dripping their sweetness
On his fingertips, wet, as the spilt thick
Ink of his pen. Language of stink
And movement. Surely he felt a bit
Satisfied as he sipped a beaded glass of beer
In the city center, in the summer, 1969,
In Madrid, as he wrote his free-verse prose. As he
Let his words come alive and go.

*Singing School (Summer 1969), BY SEAMUS HEANEY

December 10, 2014

Conversation’s Plight

I remember when words had meaning;
A man was only as good as his word.
I thought about this over a conversation,
As my partner’s words were never heard.

December 9, 2014

These days.

Angered to enraged,
Exits to exist.
Same to same;
List to list.

December 4, 2014

Finals in a Boat

Thick are these academic papers;
We cling to as long proved assets.
Fingers flip thru dull page after page,
Proving proclaimed righteous passage.

Moving red eyes scan this distant mote,
To grasp sought after effective note.
Hoping, praying, and prying we go,
Aspire this traveled boat always floats.

Thru vast opaque waters of fluid mind,
Much is the lacking of present time.
Having been assailed, to keep us entwined,
Confined we fret, towing endless line.

To calmer seas onward we press,
Trying challenges bested, nobly met.
To succeed; to degrees; to just pay rent-
Precious hours of our lives lost or lent.

To dock that long off nigh forgotten vessel,
To pin to chest the highest rank of glint medal.

***
See what I’ve caught? It’s called a label.

December 1, 2014

One Wonders (Camp Cult)

One wonders,

Have I missed a step?
Am I still asleep?
Has the logic left?

Oh, to think again… Now I don’t “know”.

November 30, 2014

The Morning After (Downtown La Crosse)

The morning after,

Early new day;
“Bar hair” and Fishbowls,
Smell of smoke,
Sore throat-

Subtle suggestions: Let’s walk down by the river.
Last night’s concepts seem less conducive to life.

Now,
Light which sneaks
Through venetians blinds.

_even though they are closed.

Painful to eyes-
And then a piss.
Then a brush of teeth,
Under dry lips.

Moving,
Aching,
Wasting,
Stiff tender bits-

The evening before, knowing full well it would come to this.
Downtown: the nightlife, old friends, the drinks, to witness.

November 28, 2014

Every Story has a Companion

It’s really easy
To look at one side of a story,
And to be affected
By just that one side.

But what I’ve found throughout the years,
Hours of thought,
Hard-work,
And beers-

Is that more often than not, that one side of the story is not alone.

Words and interpretation are never the exact
Same,
Objective,
Way.

Except for apparently in America,
In August, last week, right now, and today.

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