My God is
My God is
A room full of Artists standing high in watch,
One opens wide a mouth, exit words of thought,
An occurrence of perfect* art, too unmeasurably so;
Those in the crowd would attempt not to know.
If people “know” more than
they have experienced
you trust what
only hard fate;
this is your life,
so why wait?
The city bus hums to me
As I wind through wet streets.
A stoplight shouts “wait”!
From a four-corner crossing.
White flakes fall heavy, thick—
Clouding a straight-line view.
We walk along the way wondering:
When does spring return?
Words we use which we don’t “know”,
Have been framed from a storied past;
Sedimented by interpreted histories,
Always portrayed by fools as fact.
Downtown Minneapolis by way of Nicollet, by way of bike, by way of bus, by way of foot; the puzzle pieces which we’ve put in
On one sunny Saturday,
Through Nicollet on two wheels,
Over the Central avenue bridge
Above the Mississippi unclean—
Ahead along this busy way
Skyscrapers jutted through fog,
Vehicles slid moving quickly past
On pale snowmelt roads—
Downtown became a beautiful trap
For tourists and newsstands,
Dirty buses carried riders:
The working and the unengaged—
Fed pigeons saunter the ground low,
As artistic homeless flew their signs,
People wore designer sunglasses
Lest the sun blind their eyes—
And they layered in light bundles,
Standing heavy in their packs,
Slung purses, scarves, and rucksacks,
Watching cautious, avoiding attack—
Mirrored window reflections
Caught the lights of fire engines,
Ambulance flashes and sounding sirens
Made attentive onlookers stare—
Groups walked by to restaurants
So some could sit and sip a beer,
Others ate a late hungover breakfast
Watching soccer, giving cheers—
And I with my family went,
For the Foshay stood in the sky,
Stepping on lively marble stone
We viewed and passed the time—
Breaking at each stop light met
Cross traffic moved in front,
Bits of the city puzzle fell out;
For new hands to put them back—
Of a rich land,
Dripping to velvet tongue;
This Lai sweet song,
Moving with the wind, touched by the hand—