Archive for ‘realism’

October 1, 2017

our cat is a dreamer

my wife’s cat
is a dreamer,
every day at the back door
she waits to make her escape.
she’s not fixed and doesn’t have tags.
she’s a thrifty ad hoc anti-vaxxer.
motivated by nature and toms perhaps.
meowing and purring,
her only feline actions,
pawing at it, batting like the Twins near some threshold.
she needs to get out very soon, clearly.
sometimes with hands full
when we get home after a hard day’s work
she takes the open opportunity
to let loose timidly…
goddamn, stinky cat!!!
Get her, get her, get her… 
we will say, some chorus
no Clover! get back in, girl, get in there!
Get back in there, now!
we love her very much, like leftover pizza.
shoeing her in and shutting the door behind us.
she has some dreams–big ones, innate,
i tell you,
she goes for it every time, so fast.
true persistence, tenacity, super human.

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May 21, 2017

auspicious believers (so i cant. so i wont.)

we can never know or understand relateable language no matter the familiarity in whatever function we choose to fancy.  interpretations involve smells and times and deaths and climes and thoughts that no longer exist; bygone dusts could tell better stories, persuade better truths.

i reach for douglass and derrida, and they ask me not to in their words, but i don’t know or understand the meaning.  they say our nostrils could not handle the 1800s and we use words from that season in ways we couldnt image.

tell me its wrong young scholar, fad intellectualists, your precise wisdom is your precise debt.  trapped in a box.  chained.  shackled.  nailed in.  it won’t be the last time.  mind askewed biased abused.  never knowing language; i teach it too.  want to understand study the single meaning for a life and pull it out timid.

i beg you to caution your wits safety.  close and zip your loose lips.  stick a sock in it, save those ships.  there is no exact exactly.  here is a free lesson.  don’t get me started on labels.  sad fools pretend to command it just as you see and read.  ask them about affect or effect, their there theyre, its and its.  sound familiar?

its not, never will be, never has been, never was.  concomitant, concocted, intermingled, fluid, assumptions that others have brains.  and they work well.  when they spin wheels in voids tending to spires metals and idols just past their eyes, telling you what you are with these same words so sure they arent wrong.  try not to laugh.  so right, believe.

so i cant.  so i wont.  every single word.

March 10, 2017

a flower underground

i knew what it felt like to be a ghost,
or an earthbound flower,
all information, all the time
on these matters: doxing and politics,
when that is all we absorb in our bones.
where the oatmeal ran cold
below contemporary jazz notes
and a vase full of roses.
here were also books in layers
onioned out over our wooden shelves.
and dying temptation had me
money in my pockets–full,
rich like those other in-tune saps,
unwanting and vainglory lame,
found doing the same ways,
for another 8 years with no change.
then i read through it entirely,
a children’s book saved me.
Fox In Socks again, very closely, and smiled,
we don’t do that enough;
it’s lonely at the top,
it’s quiet at the top,
other people hate the top–what hate(?).
humor, the distasteful, slop.
i think about time and how it escapes me,
i think if i could make it stop
and smell the fancied spring flowers
i’d want to make it start again.
i’d know that they were never really there.
modern days of trials and errors
never let you live it down;
beauty never seen, a flower underground.

February 28, 2017

inflammation of the toes

i scaled the skin off of my feet
with some sponge
so i could sleep, this was 11pm.
i thought of how an acquaintance spoke of incompetence,
Putin, and being a gun-owner
all in one Letter to the Editor.
that is where you will find the news today.
you will not find sleep there.
you will find sleep in scrubbing clean.
my feet were in silent torment, sorrow.
i wonder about
how contagious this might be.
i wonder about the water down the drain,
where it goes
and how it makes me tired.
my toes dry straight up in twilight air
and the dim light of night
that sticks from a wall socket.
thank god for that creme.
and that others got real problems,
ones they can sleep on.

November 18, 2016

religion: media

what i have learned since last Tuesday,
and the sunny Tuesday before that

which so unceremoniously passed,
is that when someone tells me something

is a true something, it usually is. the labels.
the fears. the concerns. impending doom,

obviously. the end. i understand that
it usually is, and not just some spectacle

to make you watch over there. or closer.
i mean, no one ever cries wolf anymore.

no one really gets paid to say. or maybe i’ve
wasted 2 years of my life for their chance at 4.

or maybe the 67 bus will arrive late today,
so i can wait longer. man, my good ambitions.

and nothing ever changes. here comes the sun
slowly shedding light onto such fancy.

October 30, 2016

dreary sunday

sunday, when candles burn,
when tired rugs sleep,
when time does nothing
but crawl forward
to the coming future,
when tomorrow is another monday,
much disliked, much despised,
and talk is always so drably
forlorn– such a tragedy.
this is when and how
i beg for ice 9,
i pray for a time machine
to instill religion in me better,
to make sunday slow sabbath.
i could smile longer.
i could be more kind.
i have faith in hope and fate
on this dark dreary sunday,
when i think of new seasons
as plasticed windows droop.

March 17, 2016

Double Perfection

Sordid pieces of me to go
strewn about all days;
coming together now.

Such a puzzle to complete,
all things as newly breaking,
waves at water’s edge.

… Breathe. That’s it…

March 5, 2016

just around the corner

“Oh, you’re that poet!”
-Cashier, Surdyk’s

A hang
over should
be called
a caught
under,
and the
Terminal
bar was
a life saver;

The ceiling
fell in
and I caught
fire, but
we put it
out with
plastic cups,
dirty tips &
and a few
forgetful
moments.

*
Two parts around
the corner.

One part a few
blocks away.

Walking home with
half a sandwich.

Long Friday night
St. Anthony main.

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.

December 14, 2015

Seeing the End

I’ve seen doors locked for all time,
purpose in moments changed,
and boxes closed indefinitely

with familiar occupants inside.
Yet, still I lift my head in ice pellets
coming down on the campus mall,

and still my view is fixed straight-
forward when allowed, and with
this aside, and taking on alternatives.

I exist in a one bedroom apartment
in Southeast, brushing teeth, put-
ting my eyeballs in to see just this.