Things just work out
In acutely unique states-
All around the world,
In many different ways.
Things just work out
In a quiet room
Surrounded though alone,
Eyes stare blankly-
Mind’s stuck in a phone.
Some keep Significance going to Social Media –
I keep it, walking the Park –
With a Book for a Link –
And the sun, for a like –
Some keep Significance on the Interwebs –
I, just wear my shoes –
And instead of wasting the Day, for Scrolls,
Our little Writer – reads.
Man converses, a skilled Intellect –
And the thought is only skewed,
So instead of being Relevant, realistically –
I am every-day.
Overreliance on technologies;
I need my smartphone to:
take out the trash,
go to work,
take notes in class…
I need the whole world to shut down…
I need to get off of my ass…
When I push that button
And watch the screen glow-flash
I know I’m wasting my time
I know I’m not alone in that.
People don’t “know” love,
Love is unknowable.
It is a feeling:
And acted upon.
You are the love you make,
If it is shit, it is because it was made as such
If it is the best, it is because it was made as such
If you love, then “know”
If you “know”, then love
People assume too much; age, race, and gender have nothing to do with love,
Inside is where it comes.
How’s your love today?
If the only thing your love stands for is status on social media your love is lacking…
Children speak of love as fantasy,
Adults speak of love as comfort and trust.
What’s the dichotomy?
So, what’s the rush?
If it’s broken, look in a mirror.
Traffic lights outside
Squared off streets we ride
Orange glow comes to eyes
Promoting fun inside
Progression riding electric tracks
Now new Prius mounted bike racks
To tires, to gas; of metal and glass
Varying vehicles pass; blurred mass
Two Towns as one; this Twin Cities
Biked them apart in nights- winds against me
Horseshoes hit pavement in the mist of flown pigeons
Spanned bricks and mortar, riverfronts lain nigh bridges
Talking loudly with crass; assumed trite little facts
Old times we tell ourselves not to look back
At great heights we don’t look for cracks
At the bottom we look up and react
Could be the start
Of a beautiful frown,
Or vise versa.
…. Or really dumb words…
To the street to the beach
To the liquor store first
On two feet in the sleet
Bright-sunned winters; make hurt
Not like sun burn
Pinked enough to learn
Thrown thoughts of concern to the birds
Know the fish by the worms, in other words
On the bar with “local celebrities”
I have to ask, “Where are they at?”
So many people who are dead to me
The meaningful discussions they attract
Flash those few a fat front row
Wait for a single beer, find seats for the show
She said she writes for Revolver, things like that
She said just put “hipster” in the title for hits, fact.
You learn something new every day.
Full shoes rock smuggler
In the basement before dirt
Hopscotch walk muddler
Parted smirk with mirth
In a place with no character
We (they) find a shiny coin
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
Are insignificant to a point
No spokes in the wheel; full circle
Disdain, now, no wound to ‘oint
The Players show empathy to Ros and Guil, no disjoint ;
they are also at the mercy of the elements i.e. Hamlet
They desperately avoid blunder and blood red moist
However they can’t undo fate with any willed choice
Lifestyle of livelihood
Real-life social effect
In that case I’m dead
They’ve been gone this whole time
stuck with inquistion in purgatory
They relive this act on track
This fact amends the story
We see it in un-, sub-, and supernatural forces:
They are caught in between.
And so on…
You’re the next everyone else,
Lest you be yourself.
Caption Queen amongst the memes.
Twit wit shit list.
And we’ve only come to the talk in Uptown.
Reddit a Million times.
No more waiting in line.
Status update: Fine.
A Wikileaks work week.
And we’ve just come to a stoplight on Nicollet in Downtown.
Watching the clock, listing, clicking, trolling, scrolling…
Fuck going outside,
I sit back and recline.
And we’ve just been stuck inside.
All night out.
All day in.
All living in sin.
It’s a hit with the cool kids.
What’s a book?
What’s a park?
What’s a walk?
And the lit up screen in front of me keeps me out of the dark.
Dial tone on the phone to text.
Who needs to talk?
Life is complicated,
Depressed and unable to rest.
Wake to a beep, everyday things in my nightmares mar my sleep.
Thank god it was just a dream.
Again, I reach for my phone.
Notification with a beep alerts me.
And we lie in a bed in Marcy Holmes.
I’ve seen things on my feet:
From the free clinics to the free church dinners,
Social media makes everyone a winner.
Or the ice couldn’t get much thinner.
All over these deep waters.
Just up the stairs.
Just down the hall.
Just out the door.
Written on all the walls.
Above the low.
Below the Glow.
Until the sun explodes.
We grow into tight repose.
Reading, shuffling our eyes;
Mundane, lacking keywords-no surprise.
Across the bridge.
Through eyelids and grins.
Ink like squids, afraid.
Made up like kids in past days.
Read, we’ve skimmed,
Looking for what interests her or him,
Between ads and shit.
Everyone is a witness.
Definitive and absolute on a whim.
Have we truly lived?
Overdue when dead.
Leak like sieve, what gives?
All the articles we’ve read.
Keeping my head on whilst trying to get fed.
Believing not what the paper’s black print bled.
I forgot the daily toilet pages, lest save dread.
Above all, those who remember are intentionally misled.
What do they print now-a-days?
What a waste, where’s the good nature?
Empty-headed straight-forward space-case, ready to put you in your place.
News Flash: External Cost, all we’ve lost in the name of being current, avoiding danger.
Newspaper Make-up: Corporation, Ads, Assumptions, and naive strangers.
Take up logic and stop it…
I usually read more than one.
By Terry Scott Niebeling
Stolen stories about how I tell people I’m a writer.
I don’t, I’m not.
I just type a lot.
This took place at the VFW, this took place on social media, and this whole idea took place in my mind.
He said she said.
Of course I’m fine.
To my contemporaries,
You hardly write, you always talk, and what is there to do about it?
Your work exists in the rain like chalk.
Frame of mind, you are blind.
Idly wasting time, waste of time.
The only thing we have in common is proximity on a map.
You have released thoughts from their trap.
Your handshakes, salutations, and self-descriptions fall flat.
Is there more to you?
More to do?
We can only assume.
As long as you are around I know there is someone better fit for the job.
Making us all look good.
Got it covered like a condom.
Not paying to publish.
Not wasting paper.
Not advertising falsities.
Not entertaining bullshit.
The only way to exist.
I just wrote all of this.
I haven’t spoken a single word.
Ain’t that a bitch?
Don’t believe everything you say, speak, read, or see.
Most people lie.
I formulate drafts when I sit.
How’d you get famous?
You know it’s not word of mouth when you’re speaking about yourself, right?