Out thru the basement door,
Under heavy churning skies.
What was once met before-
Matters not now to fresh eyes.
Out thru the basement door,
Come right past
Cool breeze day
I’m fine with that
Swing to and fro
Practiced at relaxed
Season’s change and grow
A time to retract
Life’s right now
Everyday to act
Moments of wow
Home is on the path
Astonished, reflecting the year that passed
As they say: don’t look back, don’t look back
St. Paul in the fall,
whilst leaves change and thin.
Whilst festivities and fairs
under tents, bearing food, creep in.
Whilst trees bend
with robust forceful wind.
A time to reflect the mess we’re within;
past and coming years, one which end and begin.
Peers and loved ones we’ve lost,
at grand experience’ cost.
Standing growing moving,
shedding one layer at a time
A tan peals and pales,
A secret is revealed.
Skin and bone become frail,
light years fast pass the snail.
A north shore lake-effect patience,
Months under sun we’ve waited.
Suffering rain snow and gale,
Minnesota weather: what it entails.
In and amongst everything;
though a singular unit, alone as one.
Walking fresh cold press coffee in hand,
scanning distant verdant lands.
On this walk towards autumn- new times and old friends,
alternatives we enact; to the ever changing plans.
Remember the voices we will never hear again.
Remember the times with loved ones we spend.
Perplexed by this simple yet inspiring life,
St. Paul in the fall feels cool, close, fast approaching, and right.
At the beach,
this burnt sand desert;
Swimming lake water to avoid the heat,
people lazing on towels,
hiding beer cans
attempt save discrete.
Plants sharp as knives while walking with bare-feet.
At the beach
At the beach
Sex parts covered by diaphanous cloth,
where we sit with wandering thought lost.
discussion minced, quiet commotion-
ride, bipedal, or car from the city to the streets to meet,
at the beach
at the beach.
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.
the downtown life;
concrete jungle summer,
new-comers and city lovers.
the space betwixt is a waiting room for action:
excitement for concern,
and trash abandoned.
business casual, with cash they flirt,
although beggars with signs ask first.
there is always art, music, and thought to sell.
waiting is the pedestrian,
some adventure sought:
tourist; look at the mess we’re in!
bus-stop theatre, a show free of cost.
completely and utterly lost,
sticking out like sore thumb,
through structures which shoot into the heavens;
box shaped, corporate; of consequence.
hotter than hell,
clothes transforming to shells.
spells, smells, and potions.
and buzzing busy waiters and waitresses.
causing big eyes-
Alongside shared-living apartments
Neon-signs cluttered storefronts.
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.
Trash amassed; pieces of me mixed between.
Now I ride by this old familiar place.
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.