Archive for ‘american thought’

April 4, 2018

shells of us

judging a book’s cover, imagine my face imaging.
infinite sides to a story, to a story’s story, but i know.
my flesh tells a tale, probably, as yours does too.
drawn in the blood of i forget them, never met, who cares i guess.
Passover at Easter, some pink ham in me again, belching.
nothing like anything. nothing like i just exist.
broken short nails, overgrown cuticles and shining bald spots.
adult acne keeps me younger than you might think i am.
alphabet soup of words keeps me sane.
reflections of thin air, in thin air scares, wisps.
clowns were in that movie of course, dark rooms, found footage.
still, i see apostles for anything relevant: novel sorts.
new, spring, green, now, on top of the every-thing, any-thing that is
trending hashtag section of their Twitter feeds.
until tomorrow’s Godzilla prowls painting a new-thing to hate,
until the next big no-thing, the next day.
then you do what they say, like clockwork spinning good, wait.
and you want to be different, unique.
then you tell them how much you can relate.
i guess they covered this on the cover. forget this poem.

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March 31, 2018

When I Commute from Hamline/Midway in St Paul to the East Bank of Minneapolis at 7:20 in the Morning and back at 5:15 in the Evening, it’s a very personal experience that I will share with you because you are part of it too and everything and you should know

outside, on the street, other drivers can’t drive.
i mean they drive, but badly.
going on University Avenue to CVM by Surly
i realize this frequently, daily, to my surprise…
i want to see all my surroundings at once,
close captioned, in HD, real-time,
over 280, let me explain.
people choose not to use their turn signals,
they choose to not stay in their own lane,
they find illegal parking on the side by Dunn Bros…
when we pay taxes we pay for both sides of the road, i get it.
at West Gate Station, get ready to abruptly stop, always.
Get ready to get looked at hard, in a not nice fashion.
there is no open road freedom.
further, pedestrians look at crosswalks like patrons look at art at the MIA.
here, nothing special to see, white lines, no meaning apparently; awe-inspiring.
i am stuck in Frogger, these are the frogs, i am the cars.
try me, run for the train.
when i sit shotgun i am a shackled dictator repeating:
slow down, babe!
watch out, babe!
OMG, don’t tailgate, please, i know this person loves
causing accidents…its probably
an insurance scam waiting to happen…
see those dent’s, i can tell they are texting and driving 3 cars away.
what a nice person, what a great driver, i substitute curse words.
i like to think about things like that, and potholes.
they make the moon landing less believable, these craters on earth.
both cities, just please fix the fucking roads.
this is in my head i never say it.
only more cordially or through art…
i don’t care about politics because they just talk.
just make it so i can get to somewhere without destroying my vehicle,
at least when i am in the beautiful city of, i am between.
if i wanted to off-road most days i would go to the farm.
still i am offered excuses, told how hard it is, all at once, patience.
as an adult who pays taxes, officially, and who drives a leased Subaru
i can appreciate the idea of better infrastructure
for logical reasons like having nice things, if you can’t agree
that’s not for me…
but again, outside, other drivers can’t drive.
and, now, the construction site that took away our child’s daycare
to make cheaply built expensive high-rise condos
also takes away the single lane
after they took away the double lane a few weeks back.
and i got no condolences, i make nothing off it only lost time.
it’s hard to apologize for wanting better roads
and better drivers on those roads, and people to get off
their phones, and for some dangerous bikers to be careful, to choose a side.
i guess for a safer and better life for all, a better community…
that’s initiative today, just complain about it.
i can’t recall the last time
i didn’t pay for insurance, tabs, plates, gas,
parking, repairs, oil changes, general maintenance, deductibles for insurance
after hitting a twilight rodent; that’s just life tho, my choice, i know.
but other drives, O, it’s so hard to understand them!
and they breeze by and scowl like i have a problem!
(probably it’s me too, we are all to blame.)
and they act like they have never wronged or sinned or failed,
or mistakes don’t happen to them, ever. i think we know better.
that’s America though; we never do wrong. they do, right?
we are all Gentlemen Animals, no different. human animals.
covering so that the Thought Police don’t get to us at some point.
but the Thought Police are Facebook and Twitter and WordPress and GMail…
but other drivers out there, please drive safe you add value.
i don’t know, i love you because unless i am eating
i talk, so i would make a bad spy… and you are great.
i don’t know, i like the view to curtail this complaint or Ode,
it’s beautiful, i race trains and buses and
the sun’s glare from St Paul in the east. i see all people,
and i love them, even as drivers, commuters, they are part of my day and me.
it’s a perfect way to get to where you need to go.
it’s a perfect way to be a part of it.

March 18, 2018

Mainstream Minded

perhaps, those off-minded thoughts
to not think like a herb of cattle
while tying shoes just right,
loading cars in tight,
catching trains on time;
daycare money, 40 hours,
to the weekend, to my life,
where those minds don’t exist, perhaps?
are they just wrong?
are they unpopular? YES. What’s left?
talking words–mind your words closely.
freedom of speech and fear of it.
paying many the bills
paying large the rent; too high.
barely a sinking ship just sinking, again, and again, over.
paying it forward always.
the sun sets and comes up again, my friend.
i worry about my worries, no time for any cares.
i don’t trust the news. or what it says.
i eat when i can if i can eat when i can eat, if i can.
same for the bathroom mostly.
but worry about your likes.
worry about your likeness and who like its.
appearing like others appearing like others.
your movement won’t fix your debt.
your movement won’t pay your rent.
and my union offers me credit cards now
because credit scores say you like to pay interest.
so where do my payments go to anyway?
and where is that interest anyway?
will i get parental leave soon, as a human person?
and i can’t afford to pay my master’s for life.
the lender is that person for everyone.
you see where i am going?
and they use you too, so go get a sign and yell about it.
and they tell you how to think about it.
but don’t say it too loudly.
i still have to catch the bus.
don’t hold your head high, they may not like that pose.
just be and stew and chopped liver.

March 9, 2018

north woods and north shore

i’d like to escape
north woods, northshore
past Duluth, past the ships,
the mini sea
comes into view, comes to mind.
all past-life in the rearview.
empty agendas found blank,
just wake lapping at the shores
where red rocks are shone.
through arched tunnels, further,
Two Harbors, Castle Danger.
a million years in a minute gone by.
how did it happen?
i’d like to escape like lava from crust
to create this Superior lake,
this setting. read it in books as a kid.
the Edmund Fitzgerald and 28.5 barometric pressure.
time’s i can’t take city’s measure.
but these thoughts save me mostly.
nothing but canary lines on the highway: open road.
would go to Lutsen, dad would, drink Hot 100 in a Jacuzzi.
he’s gone too. long gone.
would show the earth’s curve to
flat-earthers to prove them,
as we ate Betty’s pies, or famous pizza,
all the way to Grand Marais.
i don’t know. maybe go
along the snaking Gunflint Trail
to where the road ends, way up there, and
think about finding that square rock
which came into view like some ancient monster on
Lake Sag, i don’t know. Ghosts bobbing in white caps.
still looms in my head when i think
about catching bass or time to put my feet up,
or about my father and what he
would be doing now. i’d escape.
i’d find it. and why not?

March 5, 2018

neighborhood mission creep

fix the world for it,
but cannot mend the potholes in
this very neighborhood.

February 24, 2018

a million pieces in my head from the 1990s, in summer and winter and with my family

one time, in wintertime,
my dad flew his ultralight plane
to about a 1,000 feet above La Crescent.
he was over blue lake at the time,
at which point
he dropped an old bowling ball,
straight down from the blue heavens.
it hit mature ice and shattered
into a million splintered jet-black diamonds.
its inception played out in reverse on mute.
in summertime, over Wildcat Landing he did the
same stunt with a Santa and a parachute.
i wonder about physics and propellers.
i wonder about moments and momentum.
i suppose he was creating novle myth here locally,
reprising antiqued beliefs,
taking awesome to new inspiring heights.
and now the dust settles on one-of-a-kind.
i suppose, or not. i don’t know.
i guess i sometimes remember these things
and wonder where those new inconoclasts reside.
too many sycophants to being glib modern Spectacle.
maybe he was just raising hell in the 90s,
being like he wanted to be, naturally,
high up in the wind, free.
no politics had a hand in it.
no opinions that were unreal.

February 12, 2018

point the finger

the tragedy of our misadventure
begins when we blame others
for where we stand now.

February 4, 2018

pulling teeth

its mostly not the procedure
but the repetitive nature of it
that suffers in the end.

January 21, 2018

as your lovely boat is sinking on the horizon, it’s all being caught on camera for everyone else to review later as they eat

your dinghy is sinking
slowly,
five tens and twenties–no worries
a tube is distracting
asking you
to invest in triangle shirts
and help a flooded mass institution prosper,
their sharks spin wild
blood in these gray waters,
coming for you, now, every day rising, surfacing:
account negative and sinking
no life jackets, no reprieve,
no stopping these silent, faceless monsters, as
your enemies await at their beach house afar
funded by you,
filming the metaphor of your financial demise,
to later monetize it on YouTube..
open that periscope,
your actual debt death sells,
asking you to buy into it.
all problems are yours but your own.
telling these pills will cure your buyers remorse more later.
now, now, now, now, now, got to have it.
look the same, talk the same, feel the same or shame.
you need that new thing, Jack.
like that life jacket voided yesterday, today, tomorrow again.
oh, it will happen, that water will come up edging.
those teeth will close fast and faster.
stomach twisting.
theirs need to be filled.
but carry those signs which do not signal you for better,
and shout language that does not tell your story true.
the more in the water, the greater the feast.
and show that you do care
because they don’t when they eat.

January 20, 2018

some new problems came up on the 16 bus, so did you think the snow was bad, tell me what you think about the weather and the Vikings games i need to forget everything else and pretend everything is awesome…

snow out the window sinks
tightens and stretches
like the budget that we forgot to mention.
a 16 bus floats down University avenue,
Green Line aside; all the bars i can’t visit.
man behind the wheel says peek-a-boo
and hello and hey and whistles.
“i’ll stay inside for the Superbowl,”
but it’s triple overtime i think, line the pocketbook.
guy who doesn’t pay the fare: he looks like you!
i know, i love it and smile to my self.
in a basement studio with no meaning.
in a basement studio language, meaning, lofty.
to Aldi for diapers pickles and popcorn.
no more phone, calls on Google Home.
what if god was one of us? just a sloth like one of us.
2018 tragedies carried over from last year and the 90s.
i want to be bob dylan, i want everyone to love me.
everybody wants to be cats. dance the silence…
that’s just about as funky as you can be.
still the tears pile up.
they are puddles piled as metaphors high as the sky.
some other poet could write it better probably.
one thing goes wrong, next a million.
who isn’t tired, who isn’t trying their best?
no worries though, budgeting.
never been on a better diet, 3 notches in my belt.
grow muscle, grow bitter about society, lose weight: dad diet.
friends wives call to sell health, well…
tell the ads to go to hell.
we literally can’t afford to buy anything right now, for years.
AND i thought we were friends?
new phone, sorry who is this, i lost your number again…
shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
the snow sinks and turns to brown water.
all thoughts of fall and crisp leaves and warm sleeves.
please help me make the rent so i
can make the daycare so i can teach English
and get 7 on reviews when i need a 10
and their internet is at fault, shithole internet.
i wonder if it is mine and speed test and it’s fine.
project Fi treats me like a child.
i am blue davy dee davy da… blue.
my bank treats me like indentured servitude.
then reading memos on fact-based privilege.
tell me more about me that i don’t know about me.
the way i go, i am a pale robot, i am a terminator.
with emotions, with new days, between oceans.
the way i go i talk about the snow.