Archive for ‘@MNWords’

February 25, 2016

Different Open Mic, Same Formula

The Wording Out
open mics
at Northrop
are always
a fun experience,
with the ill-timed
comedians,
the dead
mother’s missed
eulogies,
the fancied
subjective
assumed
thoughts of
same same same
injustices
coming
over that
easily acted
Loft literary
formula (EASY!),
maybe if
Some (U) Slam was
more inclusive,
maybe if
certain groups
didn’t exclude,
they would
find others
in their
audience
also wishing
for something
objective,
real, novel,
also wishing
for something
(anything!)
that perhaps
sounds new.

I don’t know though…

***

Stop assuming what people around you think,
write about what you see, your experience.

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February 23, 2016

I don’t usually take the bus home, but when I do…

Dim lights fading
as dim feeling,
somewhere,
I am Northeast,
viewing dark
clothed bus seats.
Somewhere wet,
floors and smells.
Hello book,
hello patience,
hello fading sunrays,
hello girl on a bike,
now, inside I wait.
Now, you go,
as I do likewise too.
Hello to hear
a sharp beep
in a moving bus
ringing through.
To get groceries,
to give no fucks,
in spoiled dusk.
How dim it is—it was,
Hanging like this:
And the veiled gone sun
as though I am too,
not here but,
still purgatory…
still full of layered blues,
and hollowed cold,
and late afternoon mist.
Going home, to
just check off lists,
going home I sit.

January 2, 2016

The Benefits of a Shut-In

Rather inside it’s less cold than out,
I see the temperature at 15 degrees F.

Rather on my couch than anywhere else.
Here is life through a tube, with myself.

Rather go to church for the community.
Rather walk down the block for the feel.

Rather think about how I’d rather not
get into an argument with local fools.

December 24, 2015

the cat and knowing pt 1.

Watching a backyard view;
there she wants to go.

Seeing this sight unfamiliar,
there she wants to live.

December 20, 2015

new sunday (amassing life)

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.

December 17, 2015

the facts of life

the only real
facts of life
are there
are no
facts of life,
we simply
guess
with problematic
language
which best
route–or priori,
applies to us
at any
given time.
how we
imagine it all
turns
out has nothing
to do with
the outcome
or the
described “facts
of life.”

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 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 20, 2015

Sight Seen

Certain spectacles are just too beautiful to capture;
You’d have to of been there to see how free they were.

November 18, 2015

talk of reason

peering out of
an open
screen window,
there are wet cars
and pavement,
there are trees
and stairways,
and what does
it mean?

she says over the phone
everything happens
for a reason,
and today is
sort of part
of that.

it was an
email, an animated
interview, an
acceptance confirmed,
and then a wait for
nothing.

and then another email.

someone wants
to meet you,
my handlers said,
so what do you do?

you walk up and meet them.
you tell them about you.

she said over the phone that
things happen for a reason,
as those sharp butterflies
in the stomach,
as rigid daily routine.

now here i sit
half a view seeing
it all, half a mind
for breakfast and
nausea, half awake
and sitting in half
a morning gone.

everything happens for a reason.
the reason is: I don’t know…

i am certain it will though.
i am not sure how long.