Posts tagged ‘money’

October 14, 2014

The Cost of Education

Onion yellow pages prove the condition
of every Norton Edition I’ve been given;
there is a rubber-band taut around that,
to keep their edges from bending back.

Expensive lot of the campus book store,
with every Professor prescribing more.
I ponder the decision of this fine selection.
Asleep eyes open; scanning at attention.

Who writes these lines that I must remind*?
-With so much content leaving little time.
Fixed to a station, sitting rigid on a chair,
even short breaths find it hard to suck in air.

American Lit. comes but twice on weekdays.
I could’ve used the library in so many ways.
Next semester I’ll scrape, steal, and borrow
So that future bank visits won’t end in sorrow.

Aside from that, it’s the price we pay for our education;
Now, we must be mindful of the freedoms of other nations.

*Recall
*
Germany = Free Tuition

September 19, 2014

Lovely Location

i love where i’m at
a dog licks paws in back
a chair below offers comfort, my seat
i am moderately relaxed

i love where i’m at
no one tells me what to do
no one yells at me or you
non-profit is the bottom line;
i can see my day through

i love where i’m at
most days same old act
used to be tired of my situation
now it’s-
computer’s buzz as people chat

i love where i’m at
days of coffee cream and stacks
reading books in the moment, as in now-
Auf Wiedersehen til i get back

i love where i’m at
didn’t get here in a day
struggled through shit people played
don’t have too much to say
i will tell you on the way:

i love where i’m at.
i love where i’m at.

Where are you?

September 14, 2014

Money Does Not Matter (Lavish Habit)

A weekend’s worth of cigarette smoke.

In lungs as it was,

Now

An empty yellow pack
on a cluttered coffee table;
an Indigenous effigy affixed on the front,
laying creased and crushed.

Then:

Dirty caked pealing fingers
Hangnail cuts a cloth uneven
Expensive wines stained flesh
Blood let late this summer that went

I spent two weeks in one night…

On:

Raw Oysters,
sitting next
to
translucent green Seaweed
whole and Uncooked Quail Eggs
there they lay
bei
pinked cuts
of Expensive Fish.

Let’s not forget the numerous rounds of cloudy white sake.

Champagne flow pained frontal lobe.
Nights let grow, as days let wane.
Through campus- through school,
on legs that bend- shooting pain.

Feeling as crumpled paper; trashed.
Sprawled across the lawn in the grass,
People playing games as I move past,
A backpack fully packed, on back.

When: all of sudden preparation for another week began.

And I have to leave it at that.
Money does not matter.

July 31, 2014

Days between Books

Time is of the essence
We have now and others don’t
The mail comes in
Heavy, in boxes
Full of books
People count on efficiency
Moments matter
This is now
Time never ends, but when it does
Patrons to service
Phone calls to make
Papers to print
The life, the day, the dollar, the request
Another recall
Another beep
Another list
Projects and process
Building this knowledge
No one regrets
Nothing to fret
Days and what we do
Define me and you
The only proof lies in a check
Electronic deposit, hardly noticed notion
Who does anyway?
This is incredibly easy to forget.

July 24, 2014

Entitlement Changes Everything,

I won’t buy shit I don’t need.
I won’t sell worthless materials.
I won’t attempt to acquire possession,
save foil distraught people.

I won’t sellout my “loved ones”.
I won’t assume the intent of the dead.
I won’t speak implementing conjecture;
spinning cobwebs in your head.

I won’t suddenly change on point;
giving up my morals and ethos.
I won’t stare you in the face,
passing along “truths”- steeped in apocryphal.

I won’t because I can’t;
my spine remains intact.
My brains still function proper,
processing small things, this and that.

My train is still on the tracks,
just coming out of the station.
Presently I sit in thought,
pondering every situation.

I won’t bend to others’ whims.
I won’t listen to frivolous debate.
I won’t exist in sedentary situations,
or act foolishly in haste.

Moreover, I ask the lot,
In a common sense place:
Won’t you do the same?
Won’t you do the same?

So now that I’ve come forward you can take a lesson from me
Put away all your assumptions and let your words flow free.

***

You know my name;
It’s the same as my dad’s.
Everyone “knows” what he would have wanted,
weighing a lifetime, possessions in their hands.

July 13, 2014

Sociopolitical

Sociopolitical,
as lipstick and licorice;
kiss with the tongue,
hard feelings then diminish.

We won’t mention that again.

She said she’s always fine,
the next week she died.

I have the text to prove it.

-Found her along a country roadside
with holes and blood and mud.
The Sunday newspaper said it as
a matter of fact- Just. Like. That.

We had this one class together…
-Fremdsprachen, Deutsch.

Who writes that shit anyway?
It can’t be real-

Those papers…

A life that lacks is labeled as that.
A life on track is labeled as that.

Hands tied, for gosh sakes!
Bright white lines,
Coldest milk shake,
I was on Valium so I don’t remember that day- anyway.

Then the poetry reading was over…
So was everything else-

No apprehension
No hesitation.

What’s tension?
We mention:

Now-a-days,
A lifetime away,
Full of choices
Did you hear them voices?

And you thought for a walk.
And you thought for a talk.
And you made art with chalk
that did not last so long.

-Some cloudy milk transparency.

But that was all you did,
then you slept-

after the sun had left.

***

Also, danke schön Pakistan.
Story: A patron puts one hundred-dollar bills inside of the books he returns only to promote reading.

July 8, 2014

Commuting on Como

Up,
Pedaling through
Como Avenue.

Alongside shared-living apartments
Neon-signs cluttered storefronts.

Following is
the
summer sun,
heat,
and sweat.

7 years ago I was more acquainted
There was so much to forget.

There was sun and snow,
Heartbreak and elation,
Sex and lies, good times;
Things called by other names, situations.

Past trees which grew
Broken glass from bottles drunks threw
Stand lampposts which haven’t moved
These quiet streets, home for rocks, sand, and dust- below shoes.

Maneuvering, wondering if the old neighbors were still alive.

Winter stuck in a basement
Bright light outside
Warm only within
-Hiding eyes behind dingy broken blinds.

Father stopped in around Christmastime
I was with a she who left like the wind.

Found in moments betting on the weather.

Two doves,
A cat,
Empty bottles,
Trash amassed; pieces of me mixed between.

Now I ride by this old familiar place.

Remembering,
Biking,
Thinking,

How did this town get so small?
How did I get so big?

***
She once said: biking is the best way to learn the city; Minneapolis is the biggest small town around.

July 5, 2014

The Metropolitan Recluse

Downtown lot
walking amongst trash, others, and pigeons.

Looking on,
Moving forward.
To self- no words
Same city we live in.

Spending money there and here,
Names for affluence, titles, labels, and idea appear.

Sharing air, space, and time;
Random moments in life aligned.

Yet they are hardly noticed.

Soft sun smell; triggered warm refuse
Familiar with no one close-

view the metropolitan recluse.

July 3, 2014

Nicollet Ave. in the back of some kitchen…

Having a bad day—usually
I just need to walk it off,

Most times,
I’ll even sell my soul at the coffee shop

They can’t judge me if I am stuck inside
I don’t mind,

Getting down
But you’ll be hard pressed finding me in uptown

Juice by morning
Beer by night
Winter take the bus
Summer take the bike

Kickball every Tuesday
Was routine as day and night
Had to cut back, and sit back
To make bucks to keep on the lights

My mind is freewheel spinning
My positive side is at start like the beginning
Nicollet Ave downtown in back of a kitchen
I learned how to deal with what I’ve been given

June 25, 2014

Poetry for Profit

Poetry for Profit;
The dilettante says.

It just doesn’t happen,
It’s an illusion in the sick minded head.

Corporate sponsors,
Ads which have mislead.

They have a job to do:
They have to pose and fit for trends.

If you do it for monetary reasons,
You won’t genuinely achieve success.

Real artists have bled,
They don’t concern themselves with worrying about the point-spread.

People live fantasy lives all the time
Where they are famous
They are sought-after
They are “the greatest”, labeled by their closest friends.

Where they try their best to be noticed,
But no one cares in the end.

If you write to proclaim “I’m a poet”,
To get paid cash and attain lavish threads,
To fulfill a lifestyle image that’s been played-out,
In order to satiate big dreaming ego-ed heads.

I have news for you:

You could write non-stop for the rest of your life,
But writing won’t always be the hot ticket trend.
So many others have paved the way before you,
While you merely lazed lying in your comfy bed.

***

Try doing your passion for years and years to free your mind, to share thought, to pass the time, unnoticed.

Could you?

Don’t do it for profit, never do art for profit; take a look at the masters, they lived in destitute, some unrecognized in their lifetimes for what they had accomplished.

-Doubtful.

***

Go, go, go-
I know people who have done more with less, they are called my relatives.

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