Archive for February, 2017

February 28, 2017

inflammation of the toes

i scaled the skin off of my feet
with some sponge
so i could sleep, this was 11pm.
i thought of how an acquaintance spoke of incompetence,
Putin, and being a gun-owner
all in one Letter to the Editor.
that is where you will find the news today.
you will not find sleep there.
you will find sleep in scrubbing clean.
my feet were in silent torment, sorrow.
i wonder about
how contagious this might be.
i wonder about the water down the drain,
where it goes
and how it makes me tired.
my toes dry straight up in twilight air
and the dim light of night
that sticks from a wall socket.
thank god for that creme.
and that others got real problems,
ones they can sleep on.

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February 25, 2017

you go!

tear the plastic
off
the windows
to your life!

February 25, 2017

present

no matter my surroundings
i find myself there.

February 24, 2017

how about that snow minnesota, pretty bad huh? (a bunch of dummies)

i guess, when your facebook predicts it
in so many memes
and the weather team can’t be wrong,
how does one cope by just stepping outside
into nothing that was said,
stepping outside
into the alternative universe
you create
by not just going along with a crowd
that may or may not be right
uniquely defined by such honed definitions
and individuals turned to
what amount to metaphorical piles of snow,
losing ground in May
and not exactly sure of what to do
or say in text about anything anymore.

February 21, 2017

London fog in St Paul

London fog in frogtown usa, all is lustig all is jocial and ready set go.  

February 19, 2017

sunday morning february

our thick syrup is maple leaf
the greasey sausages of pork
new light cuts through pale smoke
of warm sun on the open porch

February 18, 2017

this morning here is what i did…

on Saturdays i can usually
drink a whole pot of coffee, not just half
so it sits until the next day and maybe
goes into a growler in the fridge.

my stepfather says it’s a waste to make less
than a full pot of coffee, so today i feel
accomplished and un-wasteful. on the way
to write this i played with the stinky cat

with a painful foot that possesses an ingrown
toenail on the big toe and has athletes
foot unrestricted. i turned on the kitchen
light and opened the shades and perused

the backlot as i filled the pot with tap water.
my wife changed a dirty diaper and prepared
for work. i cleared my mind for getting my
ID updated and a new credit card;

i would have to change accounts. i poured what
was left of the old coffee from yesterday
into a tall glass, added creamer and drank.
thought about how i won’t buy beer this weekend

and how our podcast went so well. it’s things like these
that matter, keep the full pot full, positive.
my stepdad was right, and then she walked in
to ask what i was doing in here, listening

to funky soul on Google Home and writing.
waiting for the full pot of coffee to be done.

February 16, 2017

flowers matter

you know what?
flowers do matter.
for
valentine’s day
this year,
i bought no flowers,
i had no money,
i thought
about that and how it worked…
each year when we were little,
my dad would send flowers
to me and my sisters
at school.
at the time
i found it odd to get roses
from my dad…
this year,
my sister reminded me of this
in a text.
said remember?
i said yes.
thought about consumerism and cards
and how they weren’t flowers.
how i thought flowers
really mattered.
i told her i missed him.
then i thought about it
and how i should take some flowers
to his grave.

February 14, 2017

this poets plight

there are 10,000,000
of the same exact
trying
to do
what you want
to do… the same exact.
so, how do
you prove
what you have to
prove, the you
and what you do?
write about
social justice,
write about your
city, write
about oppression,
write about love,
or if you don’t feel it
fantasize about it;
society gives you truth.
(where is the lens?)
for me,
it’s different:
minimum parental leave,
as a dad,
diapers and breast milk,
little to no money,
full-time work with college debt,
no covered movement,
cis pale male,
no publisher,
i tell people what i think–
no groups,
no promotion to climb a ladder,
just words.
and i make myself happy.
yet still for a poet
like me
my plight isn’t
trendy…
there are bigger memes.
more advertisement to be had.
so forget it.
now, it doesn’t matter.

February 12, 2017

the

some times i might use the same word too much in my poems to convey a message, to makes sense. the summer day may have too much sun, the evening night too much silence. what this tells me about wordage, i do not know. i like South Dakota and time off and simple language and useless protests and all those involved, they are everywhere. the spectacle. and so are my words, when used over and over again. this isn’t a college poetry workshop, so, otherwise i would care. the the the the the the the the the. some times, the words.