Posts tagged ‘uptown’

September 20, 2014

Situation ( how I talk ): drinks after class

Situations ( how I talk ): drinks after class

So,
I’m at a convenient store on West Bank
Dust blowing in the wind
on a partially torn up sidewalk,
At a convenient store on West Bank

Right?
That’s where-
Okay,

So,
I’m in line to get cigarettes,
With a friend,
And my contact falls to the floor
Blurry and shit,

-This pain.

I can’t see…
It’s on the ground,
Patting my shirt, do you see?

I gleam the phosphorescence of it in the dim florescent light,
On the dirty floor,
What those had tracked in,
Just before.

You know,
I pick it up.

Ali’s behind the counter selling cigarettes
Big bright smile
Looks at me

Hey, do you have any…

He doesn’t have solution;
But he can help,
Standing there, palming the lens

I tell him to give me some Visine

I unbox it
Reluctantly-
I pop the top
With the ease of expertise

Sit at a table
Some people are eating,
Watching,
They get up and leave

I’m putting my eyeballs in.

Wetted the crumby table,
then I could see.

I wiped up what I had spilt.
And put the bottle in my bag to leave.

Thank you sir rang aloud as bells on the door-

Happily no longer in discomfort,
Then I walked across the street to Palmer’s.

August 29, 2014

Minneapolis, The Production.

Filched every best part of art,
of everything.
Singing in the rain
as if a poignant destiny.

Blessings of death
and the mounting of enemies,
over the stone arch bridge
on two rims,
bubbles and scum,
Mississippi muddy brown waters below.

Then we eat, sleep, drink, and move on.

Tattoos and body piercings
Ostentatious Restaurants.
Underground Hip-Hop
and Poetry- the life, so long…

A million extras with a million extra lines; you see the conundrum.
Oh, the Cheeky Bastard.

A problem with me,
probably-
Attitude,
something rude.

Perhaps.

Transcendentalists and progressives, pass aggressive.
Just listen to those intellectuals. (How Special)

Bowel movements
have caused more pain
with more tact and significance,
more movement,
and,
yet, who knows the difference?

Faces are wearing half-hearted pleas of forgiveness, wholly realistic.
– Yellow toothed Grimace.

- Some greyed with fluoride.

- Dentists to witness.

On a real morning
in the real rain
with real useless thoughts,
another really real day.

Overcast above skinny jeans,
mind over matter,
beer filled bladder.

-What we’ve gained.
Promising to keep promises
Walking home just to kick dirt
Flat-tire again- spare me your words.

Unable to afford trivial debate; I stand at a deficit.

Nicollet downtown slicked squares
cut from somwheres- elsewheres.

Reading books to stay relevant;
vintage classics, or course,
Conversations alone,
clean-cut brilliance, absurd.

Excuse me Mr. Artist, can you paint a picture?
Anytime.
Can you write a song?
Any tune, with any rhyme.
Can you sell millions upon millions?
Hopes and dreams, divine.
Can you deal with the adoring throngs- fanfare, that is…

Kids beat drums on the streets,
attempt at viral video,
as the beggar creates a compelling story (wife, child, car, broken, needs, hospital)
Let me give a little-

I spend time at the liquor store too.

Questions: Do I invest in this practice?
Or do I keep ignoring?
Investigate the occasion,
I mean, I guess, I live in poverty too…

No snow on the sidewalk,
just shoes.
Heat index and sweat,
rugged, as it proves.

No ice- or melting with salt under foot,
hanging cigarette ash on stiff upper lip.

Pedestrians that give real looks
External cost magazine crooks.

Signs in downtown read: affluence, success, money.
Neon lights of red, yellow, green, blue and orange,
They sparkle and shimmer in cold and warm,
even in the daylight morn, bikers, buses, taxis, sparkle adorn.

Then the director yells: CUT!!!
And the lights go dim on the set of Minneapolis.

July 23, 2014

At the beach (Cedar South)

At the beach,

this burnt sand desert;
tan,
beyond feet,
hot!
dig underneath.

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.

Sunscreen smells,
lax notion,
rubbing lotions,
discussion minced, quiet commotion-

ride, bipedal, or car from the city to the streets to meet,

at the beach
at the beach.

July 14, 2014

Cold Day July

Hot Coffee
Cold Day
Blue Sky
Why complain?

Books to entertain,
Existing on this plain.

Between life,
insight,
Likes
Bikes and Lakes-

There is nothing but happiness along the way.

July 9, 2014

Tattoo II

Dark outlines
on pretty flesh;
a meaningful, forever, sentiment- lined sketch.

For life, for death,
a canvass to test,
bold bright colors; judgment: pretense.

Now art, now unique, now taut puffed; hurt when pressed.

Self-inflicted wounds to heal,
paying for this pain,
stories etched on the surface;
memories remain.

Now, what do yours mean? …

Everyone is jumping off of that bridge,
So I packed a parachute and lit a smoke- see?

July 8, 2014

Triple Double

we used to go to The Triple Rock on Tuesdays- every Tuesday;

they had 2-4-1’s:
two drinks for the price of one- natürlich,

we would stay late, dancing and sweating, and trying to get laid…

it was a spectacular spectacle, an idea with appeal; drink one-self half-silly,
amongst those of a similar age demographic,
-get lucky,
then attempt to maneuver treacherous city streets
on bike, in cars or cabs,
home.

the whole thing ended rather abruptly when a few kids couldn’t handle their liquor, words, and fists.

a fight broke out into the street,
under cigarette smoke, dim streetlamps, smell of stale beer in the air,
and the big kibosh was put on the entire coveted evening, the whole event was OVER.

the deal had turned into somewhat of a deal-breaker, and this was way before the wounds of those street-fighting kids  had healed;

egos and all.

so, what two things did we learn here?
if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is, and nothing lasts forever.

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 4, 2014

Local Odds and Ends

Currently my ears are to The Current:
1.) I need to do a membership drive.
2.) I need to tell you what I have to offer.

You may need me.

The someday sun guides these moments,
Skimming and scanning words for entertainment.

Dessa Darling writes of trendy folk
Sitting somewhere in Uptown
In a hyped-up exclusive dive
She frequents all the time.

…How natural.
Feeling somewhat deprived…

Locally famous can get you work—
Haven’t you heard?
Can one person tell us of life?
Exposing us to worth

__Describe what to like,
And what’s cool, new, and authentic! (Right?)

Stories retold
Mundane to old
Fresh to mold
Hot to cold
And I digress,

I do so, but
So it goes.

Who decides the content?
What did they accomplish?

A fine print promise

Only allowing what we should know;
Ads and Marketing pave the road.

Candle to the sun
Eyes attempt escape
Another torn notion
Another empty page

We read on:
We read on.

Their sales people and prospectors betray
Their photo editors have much to display
Constantly political in profitable ways
Constantly cynical; printing what pays

And we run off to a book, to a poem, to a forest, to a river,
To hear nothing but the truth.

May 3, 2014

Performance Art near Bryant-Lake Bowl

Jägermeister and biers
Then kicked out to the street
We were there for a bit
Then we had to leave

Flew round at sun-down
In scintillated light
Flew down for the evening
I was riding my bike

On Portland Ave.
They exclaim
They might see me

On Portland Ave.
I came
Wheels beneath me

Oh the drunk bastard is dry
Give him his rye
Oh that fucker; mean guy
Let sleeping dogs lie

He is less than me;
His reality is obscene
He is not next to me
He is underneath

Oh, Oh, Oh, and so on…

–No description at all,
None to recall
Was he fat or fit?
Was he thick-haired or bald?

Who judges this person?
Who judges discretely- who calls?
What you see with your eyes
Is described differently by us all

What company we keep
What of those we meet
Was it a pleasant surprise?
Or a disappointment in the least-

Again I sit with local celebrities
I have to ask pressing questions
Are names just minor discrepancies?
Are they darlings for our attention?

Goodbye Auf Wiedersehen
On to new situations
On the street forward making
On to splendid occasions

To Bryant-Lake Bowl
In a car we drove
For a stroll, for a go
Exposing deeply our souls

In reddened pale light
A girl died one night
This scene of present sight:
Some mixed up fight

Blurred pictures remain
No date and no name
Was a crying shame
We drank that day

Now we look
Broken on the curb
A collapsed man
Drunk and absurd

Too blind to stand tall
Not at all looking proud
He had something to say
Thick mumbling aloud

We walked towards and down
His adversaries stood over
We watched stepping around
While still moving closer

Blood on the street;
He on the ground
Level with feet
He made a pitiful sound

A bald man in cahoots
Was reciting him his lesson
2 men were to explain
Their benign intentions

Questions of: “Did you strike him first?”
What’s the story?
“Have you done cocaine tonight?”
Boy! Don’t you ignore me!

He was obviously not sober
After a few inspections
Words weren’t coming out right
Aphasia for reflection

They stood at the door; shoulder to shoulder
He: a sad pile of bones in a suit sat
Looking younger rather than older
We 3 strolled along light hitting as we passed

Waiting for a taxi cab
The 2 guys had to explain
One of them shouted,
“He said he had AIDS!”

“He blew blood our way!”
There he lay in subdued shock and dismay
He could not get up
So there he would stay

Now no one touched him
Confused little looks
They went about their business
Scot-free lucky crooks

Moved by this art
The blood drops dark red
Spread thick while inches apart
Trail of liquid which lead

A few more steps
And we were at the door
We took our seats
After chair legs screeched the floor

In most of my glory
Contemplation of sport
Of what we had seen
I was staring straight, completely absorbed

How did I get here again?
And what the fuck just happened?
:
Man in his stasis; we’ve likely had these days
It’s 20/20 vision to talk of others in such ways.
;
I don’t know what you do,
And I don’t care
.
That’s where I was,
I was there.

February 17, 2014

Stop Now (Uptown Unidentified)

Re-shelve Successful

Doubt

 

Compromised

 

Fail

Small as a Whale

 

Pink Elephant

Stupid Intelligence

 

Smell the Permanent Marker

Average Car Parker

 

Pure Pollution Cloud

Truth Solution Crowd

 

A Tidy Mess

Tortured Unstressed

 

Hyper Rest

Atheist Blessed

 

Blue-Red

Alive-Dead

 

Zombie Nation

Smiling Frustration

 

Obvious, without traces

 

Synthetically Organic

Freeze-Dried Wet Pages

 

Going on for Ages;

Stop Now.

 

***

Uptown Unidentified:

 

New Trendy Clothes,

But the Act is Old

 

Speaking of what you’ve almost sold

As if you’re talking to a fool

 

Stepping with everyone- the everyday crowd,

I bet you make Art too.

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