Archive for ‘observation’

March 24, 2017

sense of humor/body image

sometimes
no matter how
hard
you work out
your core
or sculpt your body
to perfection
or sweat it out
or believe in yourself,
it still
doesn’t change
your fucked up attitude
no matter
which
mirror you pose in front of
no matter how
many selfies you take
from whichever different angles…

only a
ripped sense of humor
can
make that pretty or attractive or sexy,
only that
can do that,
only laughs
will jack that shit up.

what does a gym
membership go for
for that?  

March 23, 2017

so much variety a person couldn’t find the same publisher in a room of twin publishers, with the same ideologies and inspirations and movements and where their coffers catch ($)

conform
or be
ignored.

March 17, 2017

…the buses which brave curb rash just to find me.

4:30 PM i would take the 87 to the 67
in St Paul where an area code designates different
and rainclouds drop ice instead of acid.

i imagine that the book at my paunch is warm
and a deranged weapon and those
stuck in their devices won’t notice all that much.

life is like that, stuck in something and unnoticed.
that is what Nest cams are for.
Prior and Uni there is a bus stop

and a café where people shield their faces
from droplets and the smell is something unfamiliar,
musty, affronting, acidic, and rendered vanished.

then the 67, then the backseat blue,
then the same aroma i thought i left on the street,
thought for a second it was me–looked at my boots

–must just be the city. bus tires crawled
the potholes, snaked the corners,
and ran me down a slight incline to a juxtaposition.

i saw red brick molested by graffiti
in high up places from a bridge span vantage,
and felt my lunch lurch at stop and go.

diagonal street not there, but where i am going: Home.
and the mailbox lid was up waving at me,
and the gutters were like the coffee pot

with holes just dripping into the basement
to grow what might hang or cower in a crevice…
really, it has nothing to do

with my commute or the day or the buses
which brave curb rash just to find me.

February 24, 2017

how about that snow minnesota, pretty bad huh? (a bunch of dummies)

i guess, when your facebook predicts it
in so many memes
and the weather team can’t be wrong,
how does one cope by just stepping outside
into nothing that was said,
stepping outside
into the alternative universe
you create
by not just going along with a crowd
that may or may not be right
uniquely defined by such honed definitions
and individuals turned to
what amount to metaphorical piles of snow,
losing ground in May
and not exactly sure of what to do
or say in text about anything anymore.

February 18, 2017

this morning here is what i did…

on Saturdays i can usually
drink a whole pot of coffee, not just half
so it sits until the next day and maybe
goes into a growler in the fridge.

my stepfather says it’s a waste to make less
than a full pot of coffee, so today i feel
accomplished and un-wasteful. on the way
to write this i played with the stinky cat

with a painful foot that possesses an ingrown
toenail on the big toe and has athletes
foot unrestricted. i turned on the kitchen
light and opened the shades and perused

the backlot as i filled the pot with tap water.
my wife changed a dirty diaper and prepared
for work. i cleared my mind for getting my
ID updated and a new credit card;

i would have to change accounts. i poured what
was left of the old coffee from yesterday
into a tall glass, added creamer and drank.
thought about how i won’t buy beer this weekend

and how our podcast went so well. it’s things like these
that matter, keep the full pot full, positive.
my stepdad was right, and then she walked in
to ask what i was doing in here, listening

to funky soul on Google Home and writing.
waiting for the full pot of coffee to be done.

February 11, 2017

#Resist : the Sierra Club to Planned Parenthood

from an Ikea brand couch
scrolling my social media feed,
i ponder how many trees it takes
to make a modern revolution’s
professionally made protest sign
that says “me” and evokes “you” to react;
here, i give you honest truth–
as i sip my latte, the $10 one from Starbucks,
it tastes okay, but could be better;
to presuppose a certain movement
or ideology is more imperatively just,
i do wager that for all–i know,
which one is better and more necessary
than the rest, for the rest, obviously.
here subtle meanings are left to expire
on my re-purposed dumpster rug,
which really ties the room together;
passed by at its open casket wake,
where later these signs may litter hard pavement,
a place where my American made boots
and skinny black jeans may not go,
only in mind…
and we talk and like and demonstrate.
we are so importantly important,
this is what democracy looks like.
…and really, who bought these signs?

February 11, 2017

skill

these poets have got skill
they ought to make gods
out of straw men
with fists up to disrupt
in groups large enough
not to miss
but for a singular idea;
for the entirety
individuality has left the building
like they say Elvis once did
and
they prefer and
persuade yours’ gone too, verily–
auf wiedersehen, jetzt;
tho irony poses a problem
when
you think about that purpose
without thinking about that principle,
a group think showing
others to not think
for themselves: so don’t; ironically,
for some everything
can be a problem, depending on the message,
similarly with the critic
at a convention of their beat–they just have to;
still there is nothing new under the sun.
but as arms of automated
recycling trucks
reaching out with care
at soon to be new old shit
these poets
could fall like building 7
16 years ago September, to grey dust
by one true statement,
fall like a beggar’s budget
at two buck chuck,
and then break
their wrists patting their own backs
as if they made
that poignant prose
so much their own,
accordingly their every breathe
is arrogance.
let’s call it “skill” anyway.

January 15, 2017

cord-cutters of the world, unite and take over

cutting the cord
i found that
Comcast is a triste tryst,

unknowingly before
but CenturyLink
changed this.

January 10, 2017

red wings on my feet

sometimes a person needs
a new pair boots,

needs to fix
what has been broken
about them.

needs to rid themselves
of the old soles

with something other
than another fix;

shed skin, sink hulls.

a thing entirely new.

smelling of plastic
and soft chemical.

and O’ feet feel so much better now.
and O’ a few bucks flew away.

walking on, like butter.
walking straight away.

January 1, 2017

7102, wow,

the year 2017, wow, is going to be 365 new ones,
with bubbles, pink shrimp and bloody Rib-eye.
Less of a killer hangover for new dads,
more time to think on things that happen.
Watching church shows: Joel Osteen,
for his positive message: no god, no. Imagine.
probably atrocities, probably anomalies;
probably complaints—and still, who cares?
Sunday, January 1, 2017… no 6 anymore.
Don Lemon’s pierced ear, tequila shots
and a fake wall built on the Washington Ave bridge;
like the Titanic museum in Belfast, UK,
the building is shaped like an iceberg;
where contradictions lie in wait and wait.
A coffee cup of coffee, within it false creamer.
Ersatz-politics adumbrate plastic news, woo.
All for salubrious sorts and their goodly peers.
Have a great time, everyone, welcome to day one.