Archive for ‘read’

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.

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October 16, 2016

trumpscare

this Hercules coffee
& sleepless dreams,
got me shaking the cold off,
happy to be seen.

July 16, 2016

turn at whole foods muse

a saturday morning commute,
when i see high performance
dick measurements
dancing across deep potholes
in our weekend downtown,
i realize that maybe my feet
say more on a quick walk
in broken-open slip-ons
than my hands do on virgin leather,
and that’s was my judgement,
and at a cracked bus stop
some authentic wait lonesome
for jesus christ and good luck
surrounded by windows mirrored,
exhaustion and new day;
who wears the pants and such anyway?
i think all this betwixt coffee sips
driving along the way,
i take it in over “ordinary world”
and think of Scorsese death
while our wet ball spins
(do i need a car wash to appeal?)
and his Porsche turns before me;
the shine blinds, maybe size small.

March 6, 2016

i took Sunday full

O’ fatty bacon ends
and dirty dishes, and
sunlight on the
blue kitchen floor.

here we talk aloud
about running the
nation as if it’s
even a possibility.

i like the way flesh
smells in the air,
when the cast iron
is heating its oils.

outside a bell chimes
in soft March winds,
the sound: my relatives,
the sound sustains.

it was eaten all up
the while, the same.
it was good, and
i took Sunday full.

and i would write
about real, jokingly.

and i would listen
to podcasts, hopefully.

February 13, 2016

Selective Modern Movements

Rather
than
relate
we
separate.

Rather
Than
inspire
we
hate.

Walking
down
a
street
in Northeast

a
man
said,
“…It’s
Too
Cold
to stand!”

He
uttered
this
and
ran
in front of me.

I
wondered
what
about
belief.

I
wondered
how
cold
it
had
to
be

to
run
from
a
belief

I
stand
so
closely
with.

Then
I
wondered
about
silly
fantastical
movements

right
and wrong
and
objective
truths.

No shit.

January 23, 2016

awake: the play

A poet writes in SE Minneapolis about the trials and tribulations of a Friday night gone mildly awry. He is surrounded by the cat’s meow, a blowing electrical heater, and the buzz of a refrigerator standing in a near vacant kitchen. The sky is overcast mute through slitted shades. He broods in his mildly sarcastic Minnesotan fashion, feeling the pains of last night’s waste while coming to terms with how his workouts aren’t working out. And nothing happens…

scene 1:
to wake in uptown
fully clothed and hot,
recounting bad
pajamas and enough
beer to consume
an entire Heggies pizza.

(and people starve abroad,
and others win
the lottery at home, and he
still tries.)

here,
i’d rather see myself
in Beat coffeehouse
having conversation

about
cutting ties with
negatives, and always
smiling through the shit,

and elaborate schemes…

i’d rather be
confused and
frightened,
than comfortable
in the same
old place.

*
certain days you wake
up away, and certain days
you don’t wake up at all.

*

monologue:
but i won’t wait,
why, why sit back
at the theatre
and watch the
other performers
take what they will?

(all life is
performance art;

even the
bathroom is
theatre.)

monologue 2:
no, it was a nice way
to wake up, in the dark
on the phone with love

at five am,
to need water,
to set the alarm,
to find my glasses to
see it all perfectly
clear in grey light.

(the cold was there
waiting for him just
as it was the night
before, and he went to it.)

scene 2:
i just found myself
at the darkest place before
i came back home
huffing on a cold bike,

and someone at the open
mic knew my name,

still all the words for
the poem were lost
in alcohol and water,
in laughs and sighs.

they snapped at the wrong
parts and guffawed
at pigment jokes;

i guess pink is a funny color.

scene 3:
so, sitting over
simple english and
talking academia
with coffee on my breath

i found the song
i had searched months
for and wrote it down
with my blog link
shamelessly on the back of
someone else’s ephemera,

then i stuck it to a blackboard
and biked with thin layers
from south to north,

to home to shower,
to think i think.

this is where you can find me.
awake.

FIN

December 27, 2015

Motion

I find myself
in motion–

in driving;
as a vehicle,
a vessel.

not waiting.
Just go.

November 13, 2015

Bulimic Cannibal

A pain where
the cut came thru,
I was near
the sitting keyboard
at the desk,

reminding myself of social constraints,
my proxy to this place,

(I eat flesh.)

of the levity of my heavy chains,
the idea remains—

(Though I am invisible
and so easily described.

This is laughable.)

concepts to
contend or consent,

I can’t forget…
Though I try;

you see my given name,
my round face,
my old age,
my manifested gender,
my fast race,
and my American weight,

but not me—not what goes
in me or thru me.

(One can only guess.)

It’s something else that you see.
Let’s have lunch.