Archive for ‘america’

December 24, 2017

the ultimate distraction that nobody mentions, too busy with everything else (millennial debt)

I am ready
for the #consumerism this year to end,
my dragon to slay.
This money, that money, where? donate!
Ready to be more #frugal,
like peanut butter sandwiches
continuing every day until I am #debtfree.
I wonder if goals even exist.
I think more people should #protest that,
protest debt by ending it: mine, theirs, et al.
Instead outside blaming, pointing, aging, etc.
Do that, I suppose. Or don’t.
Sort of some responsibility.
Then worry about everything else.
Because you are owned by your debt,
but you don’t really care until you know.
That plastic, that is you.
The banks that you fund.
They are all in the shadows laughing, watching, pointing you on.

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December 17, 2017

Breaking News is Tragic Theatre, bring Popcorn

While the world is ending
supposedly (every day now per whoever…)
i want to eat pizza and cheese curds,
drink fresh water and OJ and
watch the Vikings win in real time
and dream about good weather. SUch Fantasy.
Weekends are dead before they begin anyway.
Pounding words into a strange keyboard morning,
hacking lifeblood into some toilet.
I thought antibiotics would help.
I thought the inhaler would help.
Telling me there is bigger problems
for people who aren’t me, damn.
but when you shut off the TV there aren’t
very many to remember, recalling,
so why would I want it to remind me so?
We play cards against humanity.
We want fair but fair ain’t that great.
And we put the seat up out of respect.
We ask for scandal because it interests,
stake our claims on being
taken for fools, look see: news. Buy this new thing.
Tell her you love her with consumerism.
All while the world is ending.
Can a person resign from this animal planet?
I am selling my whole life to make ends meet.
tho maybe they don’t want to.
paying medical bills and insurance simultaneously to no avail.
One bag, drill, shoe, tent, book at a time.
This channel will tell me all about all
the problems I should focus on today, because.
Still some people just die in traffic.

November 28, 2017

iPresence

MN: land of infinite dusk,
this time of year again, comes on strong
like Old Crow or Evan Williams or let downs.
those arguments last longer,
depthless debate, soulless embrace–stalling
the shades–undrawn, hanging,
that’s life they say,
to each their own they say,
cast their shadows like Slender Man at Eagle Bluff,
throwing shade like raw hate (on character)
and Halloween scares on 10/31: no porch lights,
no needs, no worries
just wanting… how to relax, kick back,
when our day has terminal cancer
and our moments are surely gone
and our time is on autopilot, disconnected,
all decided before us?
and for what?

go protest, iPresence.
can’t even, i see.

November 23, 2017

beer brats

meat in a                                           pot
drown                        in                                         beer
boil for                                      ten                   minutes
talk                            about things
almost               boils over
medium heat
on a                                                                  frying pan
brown,           not blacken           the sides
middle

still raw
pale                                               as ghosts
cut                      through
kraut          and ketchup
after,                                                            sesame buns
plates, grease
and that is how you
cook              beer brats

November 22, 2017

maybe hate is love in disguise

the thing about hating on another’s artwork
is inspiring, i suppose.
i realized this the other day.  that
when someone hated on my artwork it was
more of a show of love.  (it confused tho)
one’s endearing compassion to say.
notice, they noticed and expressed
inspired as it were,
that indelible stated word
so inscrutable, they called my artwork “gay” .
how they used language so well to tell
what was on their expansive mind, so kind.
and in kind i thank them for the brain power passed, twas amassed.
O’ lovely comments like bricks hit w/ light yesterday afternoon
like the bright smile of my great child, or his laugh,
like making it home no deers dead on 52 south.
nothing like it.  dying sliver of a moon on some purple horizon,
no stressful drive, no worry.
things just happened that way, even replies, they say,
sometimes beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
sometimes that beholder is a troll-bot somewhere.
sometimes beauty is a subjective idea.
anonymity is a gem to be polished,
is a life to be assessed by everyone always.
felt good waking up to that notification.
felt good to just think about it in appreciation.

November 18, 2017

ghosts cannot kill

life after life
life after this coffee is gone, slipped out of its cup
computer screens bleeping, drama queens screaming
after a walk in the woods, after silence
thoughts of my father
pop up like mushrooms in spring,
me as a father now especially
as that one spire, strident, fixture in my life
once was, as afraid of the dark
as bumps in the night, he stands there
dead eyes, calming, voided, silhouette doorway
telling me the same thing he told me to make me feel safe:
a ghost has never killed anyone in the history of time,
no one has died from seeing a ghost,
and if i were going to die i would have done it by now
he told me that without exaggeration
i wonder are they real
or are they just gone when they are

November 12, 2017

sunday apex

Beautiful Sunday morning
dark AM morphing from
empty pews’ attrited time
to quiet hymns breathing sigh

October 22, 2017

blanket dawn

layered orange crimson and green hue,
cut through rectangle windowframe view.
one sleepy town awakes in fogs and horns
to a night’s black fast escaping morn.

October 21, 2017

52 south in minnesota and some thoughts that i can’t escape like the blood on the highway and the lights up ahead

the dead deer leave their stains on 52 south
longer than the sun hangs in Oktober skies wide pale,
i hope to not create that sort of artwork tonight.
probably someone died in the accident at Coates.
glass, lights, backed up traffic and silence at the crossing.
entrails and scattered viscera, nature and force.
later, i hope this poem doesn’t take a dive on me.
matter and brain matter and matter matted.
where softly playing wind chimes alight and inflatable
Halloween decorations on the lawn greet us, hum.
barefoot in the street talking visas and books and
cars and presents, my mom’s birthday is this weekend.
above some star dies and the cemetery up the hill knows.
at least two beers on the couch, check in at motel home,
at least some pictures. my little man is awake past his bedtime.
teaching language in the morning, then they talk like me.
these strangers aren’t strange, they are nice.
wake in the morning. talk talk talk talk talk talk
talk talk talk talk talk talk. what’s the problem?
i know how she is when she is the way she is, love.
same costume as the last 5 years or so, goodwill find.
there is no surprise like there is no surprise.
an animal jumps in front of the dashboard, it’s a leaf.
there is not change there, no change there, there.
lock and dam no. 7 is an empty street where josh died.
dan will be at jules and wives will be in andere Staaten.
nextday i have coffee and talk to China and think
of the money that i don’t have and need to find somehow.
doesn’t matter, but that fucking deer is dead again now in my head again.

October 11, 2017

time machine me back to then so i can not offend and better off myself

how many candle lights do illuminate?
to the beard on my red face,
to the dark beer in my dry hand,
to the classical music on Google Home in my stung ears.
how many? we don’t hug anymore…
thoughts of non-gendered scouts and Forensic Files on tv…
that pod over there listens when i talk:
“OK GOOGLE, tell me a story i haven’t heard before.”
treat me the opposite of how you treat my poetry.
i ponder existence and sharp wits.
calling on the military personnel
to quell my disquiet violence,
the mannequins were disarming in the wax exhibit.
sell the quietude; there are many words and some pennies.
tell them you no likey,
speak in baby to me so i know we are truly friends.
here, sarcasm is part of the local dialect.
a week old and this beer is very smart,
and the beer is German like my name.
months old and my beard is a great disguise, hardly recognize…
but i am royalty from some German story,
some town named Worms near Frankfurt,
dragons lay slain at my feet a millennia ago or so.
my sword gleamed in this light–then, or something like that.
and no volunteerism today, 6 pm they abandoned me.
just coming home to meatballs and soup and stares
and eating and walking and talking awares, about
killing our debt together, i’ll cover the roof
with sniper prowess and fox logic.
wait for its head to pop out, pew, pew, pew…
the interest is what kills you in the end;
do you want to pay interest on cereal or coffee or whatever?
just give me some time now, thoughts.
i am doing what i should have done in the past.