i love bacon on foggy sundays
talking about past “friends”
reliving vivisection nightmares
and discussing English language.
of course, in a room full of
nametags and coffee and questions;
we are all teachers together,
except i hold my head
and wait for my lenses to change colors.
of course, came in late
and i don’t believe in
your political beliefs
too busy haggling with customer service
finding use where their is none.
she rubbed her inner thighs.
the sun was out though.
telling people what i think-thought-theory
is a litmus test for your sanity;
without commanding a sharp group
and/or their thoughts simultaneously.
the clock didn’t have numbers.
touch fingertips when you’ve found a partner.
would rather tell google to play
“hold on for one more day”
than subscribe to what is
imagined outside of the bubble; i can see too.
i will eat the whole pig and its face too.
i really don’t care when it comes to food.
a survivalist eats it cold.
Texas Chainsaw Massacre meets Walker Texas Ranger.
and i love sundays and bacon
and waking up not from surgery
or extremely hung-over and broke
and having my wife and son
right here next to me.
i like getting paid.
i didn’t waste last night at a bar
trying to tell my “friends”
i believed in what they thought
so they could like me again
when i don’t.
would rather make enough money to sleep on,
would rather. and you can
find me with bacon and without.
you can find me smiling, ready.
i love bacon on foggy sundays
by nature we
so, love me
as we are
a similar kind.
the 35W bridge
fell on a
swift August day
rush hour traffic,
in a humid haze.
the stone arch
square beige still,
just so, guiding
past and present
city center scene.
Broken case, & we ask for a fix.
Set life, & we want this
framework society whole,
for we stay. I imagine the world
as a walk through a snow-covered dale.
(Alone, yet we are acutely surrounded.)
Taking animals, breath, & fodder
we imprint & claim. Where factions
of cogs, similarly, work thru the day,
toiling in a city’s heart for pay, and
edged on the fray. Life as an object,
an eye—seeing, as those
who place the charts remain.
We follow, set the calendar’s pace;
boxes crossed out, and the way we
plan our inevitable forays,
this, as the others, all the same.
Our mapping life, all right, the sight…
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.
the objective thermostat here
is hard butter on a dirty
busy kitchen countertop.
other contraptions don’t work.
i am front page, B & C,
and Columbia Heights business.
they want coffee shops for
auto care, they want a place
to find what they need.
they, they, they, but who?
this is sunday with my nose
in a creased Star Tribune.
i am at home with Jazz 88(.5),
with the smell of burnt sourdough.
that which surrounds creates.
sounding the packaging from
yesterday’s christmas market parade;
that was money well spent.
coffee travels with it in aromas and
heat to our morning stomachs.
empty then, now made stuffed full.
just two grown up children
at a register, talking about getting
quarters for laundry, where baristas
broke food & beverage codes,
and what goes on later that day was told.
i don’t want to get sick, i just want.
i love the short weekends for
what they are, for what our
society allots a persona like me. i can
afford this for just five days of paid toil
out of the lengthy work week, and
i think, it might be worth the wait.
new sunday measuring the warmth,
running in the cold; we are finding two
for five for a 40 hour amassing life.
and that is how exactly i am i.