The rounded mesas
were verdant sheen in predawn hue
and to the east
steam plumes were standing tall
and the sun
when it rose caught river currents
in the fore
so that they came
entwined to one another
on the earth,
the sun all aglow, sharp,
and the river a ghost mirror reflecting,
they were lovers
of common grounds
beyond whose husks melted worlds away
past all understanding.
The rounded mesas
4:30 PM i would take the 87 to the 67
in St Paul where an area code designates different
and rainclouds drop ice instead of acid.
i imagine that the book at my paunch is warm
and a deranged weapon and those
stuck in their devices won’t notice all that much.
life is like that, stuck in something and unnoticed.
that is what Nest cams are for.
Prior and Uni there is a bus stop
and a café where people shield their faces
from droplets and the smell is something unfamiliar,
musty, affronting, acidic, and rendered vanished.
then the 67, then the backseat blue,
then the same aroma i thought i left on the street,
thought for a second it was me–looked at my boots
–must just be the city. bus tires crawled
the potholes, snaked the corners,
and ran me down a slight incline to a juxtaposition.
i saw red brick molested by graffiti
in high up places from a bridge span vantage,
and felt my lunch lurch at stop and go.
diagonal street not there, but where i am going: Home.
and the mailbox lid was up waving at me,
and the gutters were like the coffee pot
with holes just dripping into the basement
to grow what might hang or cower in a crevice…
really, it has nothing to do
with my commute or the day or the buses
which brave curb rash just to find me.
what i have learned since last Tuesday,
and the sunny Tuesday before that
which so unceremoniously passed,
is that when someone tells me something
is a true something, it usually is. the labels.
the fears. the concerns. impending doom,
obviously. the end. i understand that
it usually is, and not just some spectacle
to make you watch over there. or closer.
i mean, no one ever cries wolf anymore.
no one really gets paid to say. or maybe i’ve
wasted 2 years of my life for their chance at 4.
or maybe the 67 bus will arrive late today,
so i can wait longer. man, my good ambitions.
and nothing ever changes. here comes the sun
slowly shedding light onto such fancy.
when does the rationale come back?
this morning a skein flew easterly
as a stinky cat ate wet grass in cool air.
cooking shows and mall shootings.
there is still a lone shooter at large…
but not here, that was in Washington.
i probably won’t go shopping today anyway.
anyway cars moved past overgrown front lawns,
a radio played classically forgetful songs,
and seven:eleven was my wake up time.
nothing much for a saturday stay,
the police scanner glows on its stand.
i’ll eat leftovers of last night: pizza.
but i won’t talk on yesterday’s toils much.
rationale, certain hormones change minds
at times, they make me want to buy.
i’d go to Amsterdam–the pub, and drink
and talk of Irish counties and transport,
the weather and such in the back of a truck
what luck? crammed, called ignorant for
having viewpoints different, but does
that make you what they loudly say? Different.
(i put much thought in putting in much thought.)
probably not. probably doesn’t matter.
probably rationale skewed by language used,
delete the tweet, ah, but O’ the screenshots:
that is the way the local government works,
tho you Canot do that, or can you? Perhaps? IDK.
leaders, that term can be used very loosely;
leaders are people too, they come with faults.
pondered doxing most of the afternoon, true.
bribes, lines, demands, and political chides.
not much for the actual people proper.
a sort of smoke screen, photo cropper.
not too much to for me though…
Again, the birds and the cat and the neighbor.
i love everyone and their ideas, how could you not?
and when does the rationale come back?
people must have lost it calling other’s flaws
not factoring in their own, tho, not alone.
rationale has been lost for the masses.
but what is that? and who is going to interpret it as so?
humans in their ways find shelter,
to hide from that such news
which they do not understand, in ways
to keep to keeping, to keep on
and go, and most–and i, will never “get it”
the agency of those in such high towers aloft
and their fears they decide on,
to encase and to deal fateful cards
to those so swiftly and so finally so nearly
in such a manner, so wrongly,
in circumstances we could all now weep,
for the images we see we are all now there.
Between violet sepia bluffs
Cars played lines
A haze grew thick—hot
Orange cones dictated
The fast up and down
Of empty traffic
Cemeteries waved at Dresbach
Sandy islands slipped away
A great dam held its ground
Where days felt longer
And time gave MN goodbyes
Polaris and the waxen moon
Lush grass and free truth
Spread out Abnet field
Voided streets, no yield
Cigarette smoke rolled
In icy air conditioning
Talks, barstools pushed away
Rum doubles and a door
Familiar face accord
Hands gripped the wheel
Assail easy premonition
A new floor coming in
And I am sure there was
god and love and open skies
All around me the speed limit
All around me cut out hills old
i am sick of
turn your eyes
are going shut
are being drawn
not even my
all the dogs, kids, babies wrapped, framed glasses, young and old, unpotted plants, jarred goods, dark corners–green, passing glances, new movie–new drama, new play: this life; capitalism, theatre, chefs on wheels, circus donuts, french cuisine croissants, organic, ham & cheese, natural, unconventional, cemented, photographed, painted, produced product soon to be purchased, some with cameras capture, stacked red brick, grey antiquated silos, expensive strollers, progressive shoes, obvious fashion–uptown, trending, voluptuous crimson flowers in jetblack stands wet under overcast and old industry, windowpane mirrors to their looking-glass self, vain vanity, standing, walking, waiting, exchanging money–dirty dinged, marketing to the reader–know what they like, showing, seeing, watching, staring, a part of it apart, breaking up lines, holding bags, spoken in broken inquiry and trailing text, cellphones attracting, selfies, a standard saturday morning, portrait untrained, looking for the next big thing next to the mighty mississippi, lovers holding hands: small parade, saying that is “interesting” and that is “funny” all in one rolled up ball, the life passing the torch in the center of mill city; here neighborhoods and neighbors converge just doing their weekend thing while others do their weekend thing this weekend at this bizarre bizaar of the farmer’s market crowd locally famous feigning outdoorsyness, notice my attention, epicenter aloof, just walking around individual circumstance, something for profit with a non-profit feel, feeling good but not doing good, and how others have planned their situations at the moment going by mine going by theirs going by. and gone.