Everywhere I go
and everyone I know
are parts of me
and the places between,
from summer sun,
to winter snow;
from the top of bluffs
to the valleys below,
they are carried with me
as everything I know.
They are parts of me,
parts of a whole.
Everywhere I go
Motion reflected between where you are and where you will be;
Void for a shadow where you were, ever lying in wait to reconvene.
Sour leather bands synched
in a veiled humidity,
swam this Midwestern oven,
doggy paddle for fluid strokes.
Rolled windows on St. Anthony
caught a trash truck soup
of faintly fanned aroma sweet
under parted clouds;
cloy cutting, putrid, pungent,
unforgettably at the tip of your tongue,
in the holes of your nose.
Fumes came from plastic bags ripped
and cardboard boxes smashed
telling of domestic unimagineables,
making way to the forefront,
and not leaving soon.
pushing through the city;
parts of me, parts of you—
the powers of summer heat sparked
a sickening knotted perfume,
lingering in the air,
in these communities tight knit.
If adjectives were people
would we misuse them so freely?
Would we tarnish or compromise
their meaning, because we feel it so fit?
A day seldom goes by without hearing “amazing”
or “awesome” or some other elaborate word
that no one truly understands,
because we want to sound smart,
because impressive is good.
I imagine a day when adjectives are personified, incarnate,
they will come back irate,
pissed off at us for our word choices,
and they will take what is theirs.
Without pause or hesitation
they will call us all illiterates and fools,
imbeciles and morons,
they will promptly walk away,
with all ways to accurately describe.
We will then think on how we had it so well,
with no way to say exactly what we have to tell…
And then, inevitably, someone will say, “incredible”.
In the cistern of my mind
live water’s beckon thought;
is it the past or a dream—
the difference, I can’t tell.
A wavy reflection at the Dunn Bros. storefront up Como
left me marveling at open beauty,
left me a helplessly stumbling fool,
left short words of: I am not from around here,
left a lady in a little black dress with a thick accent saying,
“Cheers!” and walking on.
Inside I palmed a hot cup of coffee
with new found direction,
“thanks man”, I said, as I dropped a buck into his tip jar,
after he had scrolled his iphone for the address of our location.
I went outside again, to help.
Gray skies had left her gone as I stood puzzled in the space
of thick fonted glass at a doorway threshold.
I thought of how useless I was to a foreigner as my liquid cooled.
How American of me,
I am not from around here, but just down the road.