Archive for ‘cold’

June 7, 2017

no ode / summer cold

oh man, you have problems,
i look in the mirror:
when your
sore tender nose
is running
sluicing, flowing, going
but you can’t blow
your throbbing nose,
i do really hate you
summer cold.
it runs down my face
to my lip,
to me, leaking somewhereselse..
like me wanting to be.

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May 2, 2017

a most tragic death

i think of an all right time
when the most tragic death occurs,
all will know, of course,
in a time of The Voice
and Reddit and justice movements
(goes along with it)
and wanting atonements and fast wishes,
so social it makes
me sick to my 8 minute abs,
more dirty than the morning dishes,
makes me want to turn eunuch introvert,
makes me want to not be invertebrate,
makes me want you to
get dressed backwards
while speaking in new snake tongues–how fun,
while your self-abuse heals you timid.
i think of it now, and i don’t cry.
i think of it now, and i don’t try.
the obituary will read:
… was a totally normal person without
any addiction problems or malfunctions,
absolutely in tune with all in the room
–you can tell by the photos and likes and comments too–proof–
… dies in a tragic Facebook accident
only somewhat entirely consumed.
yes, they did. taken too soon.
and there will be no laughter.
and there will be no hereafter.
and you won’t have to worry about what your friends will think.
because it will all be more real
than the network could handle,
more real than your profile is just now.

December 15, 2016

a few days of cold

perhaps heavy layers
might block
the -20whatever
weather,
perhaps
truth is what
you believe;
perhaps shovels
and salt will
kill the snow.
perhaps tylenol
cold & flu relieve.

December 11, 2016

mission control, i got a cold.

ah… mission control,
my pink floyd head
can’t handle the
layered, fluffy driven
snow. i thought
about that easy idea
for a moment and
shoveled it past fast;
a dog’s muted bark echoes;
beyond cut crystals
that adorn clear glass.
what a cold day to be
spreading out on this
red yoga mat, sooo ready
to take a shit,
ready to sip my coffee
with some honey in it,
in a tall white mug.
sort-of, kind-of like me
in the right light.
ah… mission control,
where is john glenn,
where is our politics
as usual, where is
my old cold medicine?
got to watch meet
the press, got to…
tell me what i should do.

February 13, 2016

Selective Modern Movements

Rather
than
relate
we
separate.

Rather
Than
inspire
we
hate.

Walking
down
a
street
in Northeast

a
man
said,
“…It’s
Too
Cold
to stand!”

He
uttered
this
and
ran
in front of me.

I
wondered
what
about
belief.

I
wondered
how
cold
it
had
to
be

to
run
from
a
belief

I
stand
so
closely
with.

Then
I
wondered
about
silly
fantastical
movements

right
and wrong
and
objective
truths.

No shit.

February 10, 2016

To Nicollet for a Tailored Suit in the Cold

Smartphone weather predictions
established as the standing Foshay,
and you could be downtown with it,
yeah, you could walk all the way.

January 20, 2016

“Culprit: Snow” -On The Radio

We learn fast, as seasonal
delay strikes + the bitter
cold becomes bitter cold,
that even an inch of white
matters, even Minnesotans
can’t handle these roads.

January 14, 2016

You Didn’t Win Either? (unluckysucker)

Everyone in Minnesota
did not win the Powerball
jackpot last night…

So—Today we can all bask in
the cold-light glory
that no one near us
is better off than the rest of us__probably.

We can now all
relish in this thought,
and be our special way of nice
over such a cutting idea.

As it were, broke, sad me, holding
a job with frozen fingers—
not throwing Benjamins on
a naked golden yacht (no fun & sun).

As it were, us crying together
at the blackening void of
our faithful fantasies vanished,
as summer beach scenes
and graduates of Coffman Union
around long winter breaks.

Cry sad local gambler, cry hard with me.
You didn’t win either, ha!

January 3, 2016

(being lazy) all through the city

being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
i bike to West Photo to get 35mm film.
i drop money at the bank to pay rent.
i go on Nicollet to get fitted for a suit.
being lazy is great, as it pervades me.
i sit at The Local in downtown and talk.
i notice the bartender and server going.
i tell a joke & move thru tore up streets.
being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
i think i am doing this task so well.
i walk to magazine boxes placing art.
i write poems and prose and no one cares.
i think of how Monday there is change.
i think of how tonight is really tomorrow.
i meet local celebrities and have a chat.
i forget names and don’t mention it.
i get a discount for being a smartass.
i try not to find excuses for being me.
i try not to hear excuses for being you.
being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
i drink water instead of vodka bloodies.
i walk out on the ice and drink a beer.
i take photos of a sunset over trees.
i love the blue sky which lights me pale.
being lazy is my favorite thing to do.
being this lazy takes up so much time.

December 31, 2015

Homage to Charles Jackson, The Lost Weekend; the lost critic

There is no fix for it, besides outright
quitting. And how many people will do
that? They don’t care to, you know. When
they get upset like any person here, they
think they want to give up, but they don’t,
really. They can’t bring themselves to
admit they’re critics, or that judgement’s
got them pegged. They believe they can
give it and take it fair — so they give it.
If they do stop, out of shame or awareness,
they go at once into such a state of
depression and shock that they become
inaudible. They are lost of thought, and
feel sure enough of themselves to be able
to start assessing, promising objectivity,
or straight realism, and — yeah, then it
becomes the same old play over again.