August 19, 2017

hey, relax!

doing nothing is my god
watching the barometer’s metal bend
chasing words on a page
some milk goes sour
in time for the weather to come contradictive itself,
taste the notes of the coffee
some cheap shite, trash, yum, reflect…
my ecology is paycheck-to-paycheck, not endemic.
presuppose your days and ways,
the window fogs and steams, smeared.
shower tiles beads dew uncountable, attrition, music.
doing nothing is my god, our god, friend:
i worship, i love, and i don’t.
shoot the gap, you have the weekend!
i tell you secular and say “bless you” at a sneeze, really? ūüėČ
but work and leisure, two things;
what is the difference, don’t expound…
like those in a poetry workshop or modern English course,
i say nothing, do nothing, my god…
and of the apathetic sort.
Waiting for God-ot, nothing to do at all.
probably you haven’t read… because you don’t.
just like everyone else with the same ideas;
having the same idea is not diverse or unique.
what is god? she or he or preferred pronoun
is doing nothing too, a lot of it,
and getting praise worthy credit as well, dammit.
so, i’ll be here with my feet up high, relax.
you can worry about it for me.
i ain’t got much time, then pine box.

August 16, 2017

Dying symbolism and passing theory 

Crumpled symbolism making it better in its descend to the grassy ground, I wonder about stopping something with that something and if it works out OK, Lorde, truly. Cellphone videos of fists and kicking, “peaceful”.  Lines crossed.  Helmets are weapons today. Comedians got one joke now. One Nation apart, distancing tomorrow.  Ruined sheets. Egotistical egos. Hateful hate. Misappropriated tiki torches. Bad pants and industrial haircuts. Worse ideas. The days of just being ten fingers and eyes open and happy and content and broke and not concerned; the days of counting down to the alarm’s alarming, counting on something, to the dry desert flooded by hopeful theory and new belief. Cast away religion and makeup and history and what you were before. There is no news, same old.  Different focus today. Something about under the sun. Who doesn’t want more, can i see a show of hands?  Notice me too. Not that sign! to change the mind and find no pleasure in no appeasements, no pleasing the cannot be pleased. Straw-man, Instagram wants me back and I want peace and world love and for everyone to just dance hand in hand again because we love each other and we want something better, or what used to be a dream.  

August 13, 2017

what my wife thinks about what you think about what i write and a blurb about the whaling industry from In the Heart of the Sea

on a candlelit porch my wife implored, inspired and went on
why do you care about what they think?
why do you care about what they think of what you write?
it has nothing to do with them, what you think or compose…
looking for spermaceti candles and fate meaning, i.

reflecting, Nantucket sent those to gather Port Royal Toms to eat
without a thought but hunger; left virgin islands storied infernos,
thought about that and words and writing and language
on a porch serene treasure, old books, good love…
what do you think? wait, nevermind.

bubbling up, i recall her burnt hand expressing white temperatures
on clear glass, how it changes so fast and silence and police scanner siren;
dropping my whisky for a similar purpose; icing thumb: and scroll go.
watching the blue grass grow, not much to see here,
coo-coo clocks and barometers and books of ships and screens
that do keep us safe from what’s out there far away, calling a din.

August 11, 2017

What a deal/Minnehaha West 

The shouts of abuse

Heavy weed smoke

Wet walking steps

Dog’s bark & police sirens

Piqued me from

My book of the Essex

Here I go and stir 

August 8, 2017

What?! 

Telling someone you love them and what their mettle is worth to you can happen in the blink of an eye, on the tip of a lash, in the time that you scroll a same feed or update your ever-changing status. Those around you don’t hear it in their eardrums enough–not enough to reach the valves of their hearts… so what is your so special and meaningful excuse? And can you bear to express it? 

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August 3, 2017

Couched in an evening

My blood-wine lips grow fast pursed
& these achy nudist feet come crossed;
Where singing loud truths cause hurt,
And our quiet moments are still sought.

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August 1, 2017

watchman moon

Times I wait at home under
orange moon skies, waiting
waiting waiting. for you. 

July 30, 2017

cheap breakfast (over a hot stove in quiet peace frogtown usa, why for fruit and eggs and butter and spice and time and memory)

my morning of foreign language speak spoke
wrapped with a stale beer-feel haze
and cut fruit–tomato, bad reviews, and 2 fried eggs
and contrived paddlewheels
at St Paul later; i am meeting to mend broken pinion gears
for inconsequential yard work
and forget the past
which does not affect us,
so remember not to forget.
with fork turned knife, i cut the
fragile membrane and watched it ooze and
sluice yellow the barebones plate: perfect presentation,
where is Gordon Ramsey when you need him? fuck.
if only for toast–
but they say processed carbs are so bad
with guesswork lexicons,
and so is not just agreeing with…
but dont talk those politics out loud in public,
they could hurt your morning stomach,
could hurt your local pride,
could hurt you like if you were that red fruit right there
unresponsive, go letting out,
about to be devoured by something much bigger
than you could ever truly imagine
and only for cheap breakfast
next to lowly coffee more precious.

July 26, 2017

Conversation with Dan 

Daniel says there will be a student debt bubble, i dont necessarily agree; students are always in store. I am telling him about faked passports and ICE and he tells me of international dogs flying. 

July 24, 2017

You think it’s good¬†

Days, another day to do what we can to do what we can, trash can out, can water the plants, cheque for daycare can, can or shall we begin? More than the bottom run, just less than the top. We are in the spot called basically limited incentives, call me something else. You think it’s good.