Archive for ‘culture’

July 30, 2017

cheap breakfast (over a hot stove in quiet peace frogtown usa, why for fruit and eggs and butter and spice and time and memory)

my morning of foreign language speak spoke
wrapped with a stale beer-feel haze
and cut fruit–tomato, bad reviews, and 2 fried eggs
and contrived paddlewheels
at St Paul later; i am meeting to mend broken pinion gears
for inconsequential yard work
and forget the past
which does not affect us,
so remember not to forget.
with fork turned knife, i cut the
fragile membrane and watched it ooze and
sluice yellow the barebones plate: perfect presentation,
where is Gordon Ramsey when you need him? fuck.
if only for toast–
but they say processed carbs are so bad
with guesswork lexicons,
and so is not just agreeing with…
but dont talk those politics out loud in public,
they could hurt your morning stomach,
could hurt your local pride,
could hurt you like if you were that red fruit right there
unresponsive, go letting out,
about to be devoured by something much bigger
than you could ever truly imagine
and only for cheap breakfast
next to lowly coffee more precious.

July 15, 2017

the black hole of the nextdoor app where they tell stories on social media and everyone really cares

someone on the nextdoor app
had a bad encounter with authority and expounded,
like that has never happened before…
we both live in St Paul, near Falcon Heights…
like anyone cares IRL…

July 9, 2017

how to talk poetry at lake como and there is free stuff on the corner that is treasure and local poets on international ideas and non-profits in the sun on a saturday reflection

we walked Como lake in the sun
at 3, 4, and 5 pm as others ran the circle proper.
i found a wife and a child very happy,
found ice cream and Miller Lite and monarchs floating.
descried a man and a woman stealing caterpillars
from milkweeds near black walnut trees,
recalled that caterpillars arent stupid–get free.
take the insect out of its habitat for safety
lock it up and observe it–for the better, really?
doesn’t make sense to us thinkers.
a couple of canoes reflected off the water
shimmering like a solar eclipses bright, tinfoil cut up.
found blisters on my moccasined feet
found a green Kelty and Boy Scouts of America.
topics of 1995: how to be a U.S. Citizen.
not much has changed much really…
thoughts of running into Tish Jones with another “writer”
a few weeks back, spoke of connected poetry.
i dont think she remembers my name from the
poetry workshop we had together at University.
told me she is international non-profit now
i didnt say what i do… she met teddy and jess.
red bugs and phosphorescent bugs and stabby thorns
and rocks and dog shit and strollers and runners, again.
thoughts of a broken garbage disposal at home
and the fire alarm that fell from the ceiling sky.
cellphone photos in the sun and an empty beer can in hand,
the tallest thickest cotton wood in the city, in this park.
a dockside where people fish in weeded muck
and walk around naked and hot and confused and hungry.
said focusing on everything is focusing on nothing.
trash cans and stone walls and people coming.
the time is late and our child cries for milk.
a parking lot where inordinate occupants move.
pine trees and green grass past Gabe’s patio.
the owner’s car is always parked in front, shining.
found two Colemans in a trash heap of a vacant house
on our tiny and nice street in a good area with good transit.
the rent is ok, the property management is aloof;
this is some american-dream-privilege-fantasy void.
one hundred percent labeled by those who “know”.
i compare indentured servitude and renting property for a moment.
then again, wonder if the neighbors are trying to sell…
it’s a good time to try to make a buck from nothing,
look at this poetry and how it goes and ideas,
especially in this market where easy sells fast
with the right persuasion and movement behind it.
only a walk in the park on a beautiful day.
i promised to be positive from now on
and still i invite the challenge of it all.

May 27, 2017

morning sun, knowing it’s god in ways that we don’t

morning sun apart,
i apart the sun cutting the shade
cutting the street cutting the car cutting my eyes.
birds standing dandelions pulling worms
like i do zippers in the northern cold.
the used car lot neighbors crowded the street again
like modern protests,
disrupting a conscious flow
though lacking the initiative as most–
there is no justice to be given back here on the boulevard
and not peace. take history for example…
i see no change in the human condition.
tho that’s me.
it was there before they came as most
they just didn’t see it,
not until it was stirred cause bright schisms
for their eyes to take. redoubled.
i only have a problem when it’s before me
usually i remain silent and wait for it.
still wanting what’s replevin them.
no getting it, they are no robin at the soil.
i am no robin at the soil elsewise.
no glare to morning eyes.
no standing stem to be lopped at rusted blade,
and the mower will start.
a hundred years old, my dad fixed it before he died,
that is how fucking trusty it is.
arcature of the gods–nay, with purpose.
sun reclaiming its take, no problem.
it doesn’t believe in science to be a spinning orb
in blackness of space
to heat up something it does not know, earth,
and does not care to
and we can call it what we want for naught
because it’s still there and we are proud.
that glare and those cars.
never moving. why should i? never knowing
something impossible, keep asking for it.

May 17, 2017

reinventing the wheel

adulting is a non-stop everything, everywhere and always. no more mac-n-cheese naps with mommy and mr. rogers. keep the bathroom open. listen for the monitor. wake up early, that’s late. eat later, after the feeding. get used to it. dont try.
try not to complain. the heat will turn up. the cold will come. the furnace will die. never really had AC, so… the bills will grow higher in a pile until they start to call your phone from unknown numbers that look familiar. growing. like your gray hairs. like your thin patience. like your elongated nose and drooping ears. coffee stained teeth black holes between. like the grass when you let it go for 2 weeks. and still, humans turn to antique glass. fragile to the touch, sagging at the bottom, blemished for worth. thicker and distorted. probably gravity we blame. and the wheels will stop. and the wheels will fall off. kick them tho. be ready to get down and dirty and fix it, even if you aren’t a pro. that’s how it goes. a new something for you to find a new way to fix a new something. reinvent the wheel why don’t ya? –for gods sake. or try to imagine a time when and where things get much easier and you grow softly younger and everyone thinks positively the same, that they are happy too… and you can keep your wisdom at that.

May 13, 2017

he died doing what he loved

the day before my dad died
my grandma told me to call him,
she handed me the phone and i dialed.
he answered and asked me to visit him in Lanesboro.
per usual, of course i couldnt,
i was busy marrying my cousin
and her new husband,
i was to fish brook trout and hunt morel
at an expansive farm in Highland, MN.
he told me about how midget strippers
were from that area
and he told me he could fly me in a plane
back to the Cities on Sunday. and he could truly.
but i get sick on planes, ex: my whole life.
i would tell him that so he didnt feel bad.
i laughed, so did grandma–a-mid-dementia.
now the cat barfs on the windowsill in St Paul
and i cant move to clean it.
you read, he told me this story.
that was the last i knew of his soul.
now i want an old motorcycle and three kids,
i want a lot of land in the countryside
and to own my own business, sort of like him.
i want to tell rude stories and make people laugh.
all around me is this fabric to weave,
even that old dreaded piece of a phone call
i hide because it worries and bothers
and turns me 4 years younger, less jaded and
more naive. i see him leaving every day is a possibility.
i just wonder when he will come back.
and some believe in ghosts and gods and scripture,
i havent seen much in the way of poltergeists or apparitions;
the afterlife exists now in tongues and no more.
i only feel the ones i never knew
and could care less to just pass
and call my imagination gone astir
or drunken views taken in the timid darkness.
i heard he died doing what he loved a lot,
and when that happens they say it is good.

May 6, 2017

inch for a mile

any room can be a set
any words can be dialogue
any time can be a moment
any thing can be nothing
und so weiter, und so forth

May 5, 2017

a timed view at 814 S. 12th

my early eyes cut to
the open window at our landing
a pink and orange rising
on some neighbor’s siding wall,
outside quiet,
unobtrusively unannounced,
where grass shakes as strips of paper
leaves stand still as burning effigies
and time waits for a moment.
all life is here and now
the release–of breath of soul of whatever…
and somehow moving on
is less of a chore for this than
sudden death, than surgery, than worry–
and it lingers all the more
touching you softly where it hurts
grabbing you lightly away from your words.
i beg to take a photo of it
that captures such brilliance
but i would only my waste time
with that greedy thought,
and miss the meaning just passed.

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.

April 30, 2017

new motivation: no reprieve, no peace

they say fix one problem at a time
and then you reach the base of a mountain,
trying to stay warm and dry
and then it rains–why?,
you can see the dampness on the walk outside.
they tell you to get a real job,
get a second too, and still you are a slave
for land that you will never own
and always pay for on your own, drone…
and most of the poets i know talk about the
biggest problems/issues/talking points, ones that are truly
out of the imagination across the nation–seems
nice and unbelievable, only because
i have fought wars over paying rent
abused furniture because of college debt.
it was really nothing personal, but it follows your person.
as if just doing and getting focused is cake.
seems nice to be able to forget, to relate.
seems nice to be able to hesitate, wait…
doing that no more, the more chores.
rents in St Paul are like walking through closed steel doors.
and then you wake up in it.
decide, now. buy now. i want to hide now, some how.
all ashamed, all to blame, all made UP, games.
solve one of them at a time,
and the floodgates just opened,
flames in a paper factory surrounded by 40 gas stations,
and about a million dying suns,
and they start another protest.
they write another book that their editor/publisher friends like.
i am just hoping the tomatoes don’t die
in the backyard cold–draped with ragged blankets
that might be food later,
and that another collection agency doesn’t call
i’ve tried to block them all…
all because i was sick
all because of insurance
all because of medical
all because of this.
i told my colleague a joke onetime about how if
the mafia came and broke your legs with baseball bats
you would have to deal with something worse
right after:
and that is the health care industry
of america. yeah. go fix that, you activists.
i pray that you never get sick, in a secular way.
one thing at a time, becoming an extra.
now please donate to my cause.