Archive for ‘health’

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.

December 13, 2016

i guess i am afraid too…

i think of our fast time
when and where the fear
holds us tight, when
we tell everyone
how afraid we
are about everything
and anything, everywhere,
so vocally, so knowingly,
and how our ways only
will most likely change that fear.
then i think
about a class that
i took a few weeks back,
one of self-defense, surely,
when and where the
instructor told us all
to not be afraid
of the dark, or not
defend ourselves if we are
and we find ourselves in it.
i mean, it seems so easy,
but the basement can
be really scary, the dark alley
can be truly terrifying,
the misunderstood politician
can seem as the devil incarnate.
and then i remember
looking to outside St Paul,
out on the cold streets,
crusted in white hard snow,
alight with daybreak,
that cold that is out there
in the sun is more
dangerous to us–30 minutes and
you are dead, and that
the summer clothes hanging
in my gloomy basement are
only as scary as i make
them myself, they blow in the wind,
they touch me like shadows,
they do what i tell them
to do in my head. this is what i fear:
the irrational fear of others.
so, i guess i am afraid too…

September 17, 2016

Life of Bella, the Dog’s Perspective

outside sidewalk.
ruff!

other dogs OUT THERE!
ruff!

underneath
the maple trees.

***

what can i
put
in my mouth
and chew? ….

***
i smell something:
a sock.

maybe i’ll eat it
and shit it
out in the
backyard later…

get yelled at.

***

no. i’ll eat
this peanut butter

toast right here
on the table.

play with my toy.

December 11, 2015

one second of drying

outside of the shower
you take account
the rows,
things neatly lined.
here is the liquid soap
with the teal loofa,
here are dull metal hooks;
here is this dangling
accessory kit just there,
at a windowsill
with its garden,
near smudged-up glass.
these items, now, they hang,
casting shadows
and drops. no mission
of their own, just there.
outside of the shower
you take account
the rows. like them aligned
your day is in
fits and motions,
letting that come off
while certain others reflect.

December 10, 2015

what i found in my food

Here was auburn hair that crawled like
Butter on a resting worn spatula –
From eggs – from earlier,
Running down its seemingly sublet slant

(Along the sink,
At countertop’s edge),

As the sweatshirt on her back
—at dusk, sun crimson red,
With an alabaster background
Lit up like a table lamp.

The silhouette across
The room too;
It moves
With you and the view.

Human matter and digesting food,
Set forth to
Consume, and assume.

What’s the difference? Though…
Part until moved.
Part in truth.
Stomach full,
Now whole—lest these fibers are removed.

December 7, 2015

today, december 7th

i remember december 7th
came like a cold shower
wrapped in an old
towel, had me pacing
turning a radio dial
and wiping up spilt coffee.
life before 8 am;
life like this, get familiar.
a new name on the streets,
ignored, just another person.
now the machine barks,
her buzzer is buzzing,
and i am spread
just stretching it out
on the speckled floor,
a lamp lights this scene
though it is early day,
december 7th, anything can
happen.  i know this,
and wait for it, like getting
ready is an after thought,
and being unprepared
is exactly out of line.
the 7th day of december,
one in a gregorian sequence,
marked by boxes x-ed out
and a circle on a wall with arms.
i am here at this juncture,
watching, remembering,
taking notes, and testing the water.

April 24, 2015

Minnesota turkey deaths

Similar to farm raised turkey
and Monsanto corn,

our immune systems have been compromised
by the monocultures we create;

our tendency for convenience and familiarity
has placed us at the precarious edge of catastrophe,

absolutely starved-fat and defensively naked.

Though,
it does save us money at the grocery,
and help those in control of the industry.