Archive for April, 2012

April 27, 2012

SE to Downtown, Minneapolis Love

Remarkably most on Nicollet Mall are looking down; transfixed on technology and personal economy.

Its too easy to get lured into a market of local fresh goods and sustenance in this concrete theme park.


Ride through it, past it.

Maybe to NE ,maybe over the Stone Arch Bridge, avoiding Hennepin and traffic.


Bus, Cab, and Ped on a pedestal, surrounded by enlightenment and city planning of no accident.

Honking horns, buzzing crowds, all the smells and sounds, all around town.

And the gospel through a megaphone.




Obviate the silly whimsicalities of Uptown.

Save some cash and a frown.


Hipster’s paradise; surviving on beans and rice.

PBR’s are quite nice, though.



Ahead of the times so no one complains.

Sun is ashine, so there is no rain.

Walk and talk, the city is trained, vocabulary and words articulate:  enter the Midwesterner’s brain.


Most of the time busy enough to drive you up a wall.

Can’t sit down, stand up and remain; fight the fall.

Focused, but the city life is trifle if you make it.


Drive and you are insane, it might take you 3 hours to find a space.  


Unfocused, look and you might miss an eyeful of what could have been a handful.

She’s in your vantage point; right across the way, tight pants, tight shirt, acknowledge, smile, wave, and have a great day.


Beaches and booze and bitches and bikes.

Payments and rent; bills to pay before they turn out the lights.


(Surprisingly, not really though, my ex girlfriends are writing poetry for me to measure and edit.

And in full that’s fulfilling, after I accomplished that I take the credit.)


We can roll in the grass for hours in our special spot.

Get lost and not get caught.

But I still find it hard trying not to bring her back to my cot.


An army of “nuns” existing in their harems, pleased with the outlook, and objections people swear at them.

Summer time outside downtown logic; forget the coat and bring the wallet.


You hang out with ______ and you spend money.

You hang out with me and you spend  ______.


“The only thing I lost was my dignity.”

Is exclaimed as we climb the steps to my apartment.


She didn’t really have to stay with me.

There is a lot of love to see.

Go frolic.


Big city, its got the cost.

Big city, summer love, but winter still brings frost, shovels, and gloves.


Small city, knew you in about 3 years.

Small city, after that how to stay and thrive is plainly clear.


Floating above the balance.

Can’t sell yourself short.

What’s talent?


Scramble to make the most important time of relevance.

Punctually late for the Hell of it.


She comes by to hang and be celibate, but we still know how to tip-toe around the delicate.

Crazy, she is crazy, we are crazy, we are labels and that’s it.

No room in this room for an elephant.




Morning starts here by viewing the buildings painted with bright light.

A past-time of counting runners, bikers, and drinkers by night.


My Red-brick lodging:  cheap but expensive.

However, the view of Loring Park is highly extensive.


Standing fixed like an anvil.

Socializing, working, smiling, loving and laughing.


Best place on the planet.

But goddamnit…

An abundant crowd downtown can’t even lift their heads to examine.

How tragic?

April 19, 2012

La Crescent Love (Apple Capital)

Everyday is normal, like everyone’s business.

We know all, and they the same, familiar witness.

A lot of talk, a lot of talk, about that.

She died here, he was born there, that’s where they met and so on.

Small time drugs, a little crime, closet-depression, some suicide, cancer a few times, but until next time we wait.

Nothing has changed.

And when it does.

We know we know them.

A main street and 2 to 4 to 6, count it, crossings; small grid on a big scale.

Lifestyle for some, a couple handfuls of stop signs and a few buckets of white paint.

More populous in the ground than above, almost, growing as we speak, on both sides.

The dirt in the summer blows for miles in between the bluffs, North and South ridge hang on both sides.

Cornfields and hay near blinking towers, red and blue in the height and the seasonal mist.

In my head, an outline of the United States of America is on that slope of a hill.

Rubbing my eyes.

I see where I come from.

Cars roll into the countryside to find their souls.

Across from La Crosse, you can get a drink and sit and chat with a local anytime.

I promise.

The fall and spring bring a scenic thing, robust rain or not, something is happening.

Where parades pay homage to drunkards and whores.

It’s not boring, or insulting, its real and it happens.

Bring aspirin and condoms.

Or neither.

The locals love to love.

Word of mouth travels around like trucks on the pavement; out and about, but naught will mention it.

Rivers run near, there is plenty of water and sandstone.

Trees:  some new, some full grown and overgrown.

Eventually from streets to woods, the valley’s crest to the hill top; vegetation ubiquitous and varied in between.

A library, a police station, a few eateries, a few bars, a grocery, a pike, thousands of people, and silence.

Still silence, everything seems in the distance, realer than now though straight ahead.

The nights are dark and vast, across the great divide some lights.

Over in the distance people stir.

Drunk stupor, money lost, domestic abuse cases pending, but La Crescent is always away from La Crosse.

Yet juxtapose.

Good times are good times, and when in Rome.

Drop a pin, make a peep, the sound seems to echo for miles.

Time to think of the dead, count the seconds in between.

Time to think of the new born, I forgot their names, but they have heard of me.

Cozy, but comfort so surreal it can be a mute hell to those with a broader view.

Its hard to tell.

Ancient times before the fur trading, not much was aroused:

Maybe animal.

Maybe Indian.

Maybe Settler.

Maybe not, no apples yet.

A hundred years back a few families, maybe three, and my sister and friend have lived where they once came to be.

The old houses stand erect and the new houses seep of pride as they cast their shadows and assertiveness.

Street lights blink on and off to save energy, or because of bad wiring.

Its hard to tell, there is no one to ask about it.

Families, some small in size, some large, take advantage of the space.

The village, the town, the city, whichever.

Cut tight, not long, but lean.

The overlook where Mom saw UFO’s and the house we lived in years ago sit high up top.

There are some orchards and farms, not far from what people in big cities call entertainment.

La Crosse for drinking and some smoke, possibly green.

La Crescent to rest your mind most of the time.

All of the people pretend not to enjoy it, but they like the sights they’ve seen and they know it.

Oh they know it.

Close to heart, and I miss it.

Small town blues.

My what a scene.

April 17, 2012

We Already Know

I am not fucking stupid.

You want to know how I control you?

I tell you to make up your mind…

And then you think about it.


Label as is and then its devalued.

See how long it stands correct.


See how much it changes.

See how wrong you may be over time.


Rumor mills are good business for a statement, and words are like stones.


I don’t know.

I don’t have to cast, toss, or throw.

Contented on my own.

They come and go, like the breeze and The Beatles.


Hicks said family and friends til the end.

That’s all you got.

Dead in 93′ that’s all he said.


Telling me.



Secrets and loathing.


Here’s in love, tripping on mushrooms, supposing precisely-accurate as well.

A familiar smile.


Here’s understand, get it if you want, if not then go.

Or change the planning of the damning.


Goddamnit; angry-passion some wear the fashion, but who cares exactly?


100% of the time all of the time, or nothing at all all of the time all of the time.

50% redundancy in statements.

20% artistic and careless motives, and poor word choice plus bad grammar.

30% over it.


Some sit and wait for the big down fall.

Walk to the door and let it right in.

Set it down and get it some coffee.

Convivial spirit, host with the most.

Dead and smiling.


Keep Snoozing, hit the button.

More progress in bed than in the street.

All consuming, more words, ideas, theories, laws, and expanded-mind inertia, while boozing.

As counter-productive as labels and going behind the backs of loved ones.


Don’t you think…?

Don’t you think?

You see?


Don’t fail yourself judge, we know you are all powerful.

Do you?


And Tupac performed yesterday at Coachella.



April 12, 2012

My Last Memory of You (is in a Casket)

You are the hottest girl in the world, so why did you become a crustpunk? Oh yeah, cause you hate your parents and you are rebelling against the social norm… I get it, sweet. #flyAsign. #seeyou@thefreechurchdinner

Like ·  · a few seconds ago***Falling to pieces one day at a time.Falling for everything, all the beautiful lines.Ragged hands grip and release the partnership.  Deep cuts, grooves; scar-tissue with little sensation rise to the surface apparent.Caught red-handed-accosted at the coattails, painted nails, she had my attention for a moment.Slice, slide, splice, peal, to reveal ichorous protruding, incised by sharpened steel.Light-colored skin caught hold on metal, opening innards to air, seeped liquid plasma; blood-red as a rose petal.  The acuteness of pain made it obtusely real.  Leaking; my life, one drop at a time.Labour of love; busy work for peanuts and pennies.There’s a-plenty.Day one and then retire.For hire!For hire! Transpire.Come hither young ambitious subordinate, donate your time and your energy to go from rags to riches before you know it.C’mon, own it.    Lending a hand to remove foot from mouth.  Lending flesh and bone, without a doubt.Share cancer with the mind and we think chemo for thoughts.Share disease with others and all appeasement is lost.Common ground; your name we forgot.  This is not personal, strictly business and we know the cost.  Sea to shining sea-somewhere between.Blue skies, the sky is falling-somewhere between.Insemination to 25 years of age-somewhere between.Love and loss-somewhere between.D-day to 9/11-somewhere between.High and Low-somewhere between…Somewhere between borderline personality disorder, equanimity, and ADHD.Without hope, medication(sort of), or a properly assessed prognosis.   And then we die, somewhere between Heaven and Hell, but only after the casket closes.  Carry me to the fucking car.  ****I want you to know that you touched me and you are gifted.  There are no negatives and positives, as Satan as my witness.

April 10, 2012

Minneapolis, MN, 11/13/07, 8:22 AM

Ubiquitous, always thinking:

The room is freezing beyond the covers, so pull your lover closer my brother.

If she has care enough to stay and indulge.

Warm sweat from female form, but the temp. is frigid.

Something other than native land, outsider, tourist, destination layman.

Building pathways in mind, trying to consume and appreciate the time.

At the least breakfast was highly processed, loaded with sodium and lacking nutrition.

We ate the night before, for free, work was a breeze and the manager gave me the keys.

We closed a few months later, no sales, bad location.

Housing so close to a factory the smell of burnt plastic gets stuck in your nose.

The area around the housing so old that antiques rise from the soft rich soil.

An urban setting of diversity and squalor.

The sun rose to the east through a few windows into the living quarters.

Rent was cheap and the cracks were deep.

Minnesota good sleep.

April 8, 2012

We see but We don’t (Easter Love)

I guess there’s not really all that much to worry about.

We are all dying, and everything is predestined.

My grandmother and grandfather are dead and soon the rest of my heritage will be gone with them.

Spread love while it lasts, while we last, while society and language languish into the past.



I guess I was mad for a moment, I came back to sanity and I’d dun’d know’d it.

I was mad at she and she at me and we just didn’t see all there was to see.

I to I.

We talked but harsh words and those words ended overheard and misunderstood.

Period, over-a conclusive conclusion, not convoluted with expectant prolongation of deceptive illusion.


I guess at the moment I am rich with marble counter tops and classic grand pianos, a charming brilliance of eloquence, alone I sit.

She seems to find me out.

She seems to not notice and go with the moments.

I haven’t the slightest clue so I won’t own it.


She’s 84, and she can’t poop or rather party, she is part me and partly alarmingly charming.

Surprising, huh?


Gift-wrapping the package which lacks all adjunct and adage.

I suppose this present is as appealing as a subpoena on Easter.

But we will be seeing ya, Miss Senior.


The desert looks friendly, alone and of plenty.

Lacking worms to devour the corpses.


The Twilight Zone does not crumble it grows as it rumbles.

Thoughts tumble as we tumble.


Above you sits the humble, below you we don’t know who, but the jumble is like a jungle of tongue-throws and bumbles.

She sits and mumbles as we sip the bubbles.

Only to know where I rest later, who I love later, what I become later, its all so subtle a wager.

And who’s to judge who?


In all time and all place there is only one thing to remember (even while staring into a mirror):

I love your face, for better , forever.


April 4, 2012

Reflecting on a Backward Arrangement

Words would be nice.

Time and an anew couldn’t suffice.


Oh, the distance we’ve come and gone.


And we walk along, towards the light.

Hand in hand.

Imagined grandeur; the moments, the laughter.

Big eyes shown to absorb all and nothing.

Reflections of dim bulbs and speckled stars projected across the still water.


And we attempt polite.

Animosity:  an obsession of fixated love; existing for years ending swiftly of attrition.

And we are particles in this vast ocean of labels, judges, and expectations.

We are not so big after all, not as big as our convictions, our egos.

That’s how she goes.


Smile in the seclusion of near mirror.


Until we are succumb by dark of night.

Until the end of life, your face and thought exist in the back of my mind.