Coins In My Pocket

Snow on the ground mixed with ice seems nice.

There is less cold with precipitation; therefore, less frustration in sight.

 

In this weather I am just Minneapolis All Right.

 

Turning to the side to sneeze, in light of the sun.

Vitamin D locked and loaded, I welcome any errant rays, as it replenished my ways.

Staying focused.

 

Spun on my worn boots, laced to waterproof.

The temperature is heat aloof.

A mirage of warm light from sparkling snow is a natural spoof.

 

Walk past the traffic, pedestrians, bicyclists, and laborers at the intersection of Hennepin and 3rd; everyone going everywhere in Northeast Minneapolis, everyone busy assured.

 

Absorbing visual tags and stickers created by local geniuses.

I wonder if they know what kind of scene this is.

 

Walk on-unseen, unheard, existing in a world so absurd.

Through a parking ramp proper, through humanoid ant flow, in and out of Lund’s for sustenance I go.

 

Mink fur shine; a glare below, I am pondering present and past tense.

I keep my head up though.

Pondering rent, and how I used to get bent.

I keep above my lowest low.

My days were spent early and late, living with no time to relate.

 

Society as a whole:  Supermarketable.

Remarkable.

 

Ads on everything, subtracting from life.

Sobriety (in moderation) has made me more reckless and relevant to my delight.

 

More rational and less bashful, written material-there’s a trash can full, for the hell of it.

Can’t tell the shit from the wit.

 

The connoisseur can express.

 

An amazing minute downtown has revealed that capitalism is abound and surrounds.

It says, I don’t care about you personally, what are your finances?

 

My dad said you served the Yuppies, good thing you got out.

My mom said I love you, no matter what you do, with or without.

The CEO said, who are you, what can you give me, is that gluten free, is that organic juice?

I suppose it all is true, we do what have to do to get on and get through.

 

Now, inside:

A panacea of color robbed my eyes of their fixed flat accustoms; winter months had stripped the tangent brightness from daily life.

Except for the white.

Except for the bright.

Except for the night.

 

Hey, I’d rather be a starving artist.

Hey, the Pope quit too.

Hey, God, this must be a sign.

Hey, Terry, this was overdue.

 

I stuck my gloves in my pockets and heard a sound and felt what was arranged.

The coins in my pocket signify change.

I walked forward through the snow.

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