Archive for ‘mn’

October 22, 2017

blanket dawn

layered orange crimson and green hue,
cut through rectangle windowframe view.
one sleepy town awakes in fogs and horns
to a night’s black fast escaping morn.

Advertisements
June 18, 2016

no. 7 at 14/61 and the future

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
Completely consumed

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

January 5, 2016

Mapping Life (Broken Case)

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…

December 4, 2015

we love

we love between
the facial hair stabbings
and stolen cane plants.

we love between
the outside world separatists
yelling “unity”

and the inside agitator’s ignorance.
we love between
a wide geography traveled distance

and unremarkable ones we are shut in.
we love between
dry hands and stained duvets,

purity years ago, and the
light of a Christian morning
staring back at you from a pulpit.

we love like that,
no between, unequivocally–alive:
kiss, trust, and a made breakfast.

we love.

November 16, 2015

This is how it is…

when verbose people
hiding behind screens
say this
is how it is,
lightening
and thunder
beyond the windows
speak more
wisdom in meaning.

when a gut reaction
is examined
as hard “fact” meaning,
our degrees
and letters
and intuitions have
been burnt to ash.

stream of conscious thought
is the next
judge waiting patient,
wanting for
one more line,
one more guess,
for one more anything
contemporary to tell it
how it is–
besides them.

some existence merely
depends on
the expressions of
others, and
how there is no
fact in feeling,
no definitions exact,
only words and thought
to a person,
telling this is right
and this is wrong,
like they fucking “know”
the difference anyway.

October 30, 2015

Proof of an Afterlife

It’s hard to believe in an afterlife.
You lose a lot of people close to you
and October mornings seem colder.
Things appear more apart,
even shoelaces have to cross lines.
I think at least half of me died,
while the other part doesn’t mind…

Ben Franklin and his buddy had a pact
where whoever died first would
come back and say a code word,
like “rosewood”
or “cheery tree”
or I don’t know. Google it…
And they would just know there
was an afterlife—it never happened…

I think if I die the only proof of afterlife
will come in this form: I will come back
as a ghost at 3 in the morning
and raid all of the leftovers
in my mother’s fridge.
It will be loud and unmistakable, this proof.
And then I will be gone forever,
off to a hard sleep. And the very next day
when asked about it, all concerned,
I will bold face lie. There’s your proof.

October 27, 2015

That Sound from The Street

construction season
is over, it is no longer summer
yet still in the morning
a hum comes from the street,
a banging comes off of pipes,
beep-beep beeping of horns,
bells and whistles.
it starts sharp at early,
the streets are blocked say signs,
no one can park, and now
they almost shut off our gas;
we had to tell someone
because someone told us.
how do they fix things
this way, by digging hard
by going down and tearing up,
causing something new
to be half-assed covered,
a little bit more bumpy
something ugly?
i watch in the morning
from my three season’s porch,
i just stand there in the open
t-shirt and shorts,
wishing for warmer coffee,
asking for time off,
wanting a vacation with silence,
needing to make work
so i can construct my own
in old framework decor,
needing some sort of renovation.

October 18, 2015

Northrop – Center Stage

… don’t
try too
hard,

the
truth is
natural.

October 7, 2015

member drives that murder my ears

a week in, my radio becomes desperate,
it needs money–needs, it needs me to
do my part. i usually just listen and
i don’t need to do anything. i sit on
the floor for stretches, smelling the bacon,
as the toast goes in. a two car crash doesn’t
look good, a bicyclist was involved,
near Ham Lake, it sounded tragic.
now they want to give me something.
i want to win, the odds go up, the moment
is exciting, this is important, become
a member! yesterday, in class, the call
came in, i was busy. i knew what it
was all about. again, hang out on twitter,
yesterday is gone, this prize is yours, now,
just donate. don’t they get money from
the government as a public entity?
they don’t discuss this. member drives
always kill me because i write language
for free, i don’t ask for money, it’s a public
service too, it’s beautiful. this channel makes
me want to start my own member drive,
makes me want to change the station.