September 17, 2016
other dogs OUT THERE!
the maple trees.
what can i
in my mouth
and chew? ….
i smell something:
maybe i’ll eat it
and shit it
out in the
get yelled at.
no. i’ll eat
this peanut butter
toast right here
on the table.
play with my toy.
September 16, 2016
there are no carte blanche,
scribes in this city.
everything for novel;
muse: money, fame, cohorts–
certain derivatives of old…
they want to be noticed
but not for such reasons,
for something like gods.
Zum Beispiel: nothing is fair,
i lost my one love,
no body understands me,
and something about trees.
September 9, 2016
…if you are pregnant in minnesota
you (i guess) carry twice as much blood;
therefore, occasionally you will find
that mosquitos really do love you.
September 4, 2016
52 south past Greg’s Meats and a spired oil refinery,
if i were a plotting baddy it would be Mount Rushmore
for symbolism and confusion of the masses.
an open highway before us: droves on phones,
and couples on parade; the rich in their luxury sedans
and country in super duty small dick specials.
dashboard view of master photography, one that could
inspire a journey home, or west, or to new horizons,
something bold and powerful like in health magazines;
in old lands, which are new and no one could care less—
it means something on instagram or facebook or twitter
but beyond it’s malarkey. but really, i usually wonder about
the next rest stop; Gatorade makes me shit and coffee
makes me piss and light nagging hangovers do wonders
for my guilt and humbleness. kids on the way, us kids.
a dog barks in the morning minus its shock collar. this escapism
from a city to a town, needing to find something in nothing,
no more labels that matter, just gathering cut wood
from neighbors who are dead and the living ones
didn’t like their beautiful red and green maple trees,
still we did. logs season enough in a year to make
smoke, to make fuel, ash, what we rode in on. washed and
cleaned and we pulled our mirrors out and met meine Schwestern
am die Ecker squealing tires, snapchated that.
and then we were off to southern homes like ma’s pasta,
like baked goods revamped, like a road less traveled
what should be traveled more. sunday mornings
waiting for the paper, fixing engines to make money.
all is well, birds can tell, and i don’t get their songs.
August 31, 2016
where thunder bolted
crawled across our
pulling trees & dust
along its straight way
people jumped on fords
while blue and jet matters
a breath of fresh air
no one can breathe
seiche and fetch
the edmund fitzgerald
a storm went
a storm stayed
a storm cried
more, more, more
and the weather didn’t think
this is all it could do
it just did what
it had to, it happened.
July 29, 2016
Take all chances.
Do things that others tell you not to do.
Do what you think is right.
Prepare yourself for a career you enjoy from experience.
Labels and titles do not matter.
Always be present and visible.
Believe in yourself, really.
Have a passion for what you are interested in.
Always, always be early.
And think positive.
July 3, 2016
Sitting, eyeing, on the green line east
at pull of rubber band force
from automatic closed doors,
this way going fast to St. Paul,
reading pulp & fodder & reviews–
rain taxi on such a fine day, muse,
truth as the second coming, we assume,
alone as this newborn child is,
before our welcome birthing days…
And these bells only go buzz
their purposeful bing accord,
and the hipsters trend all over
Twitter and Facebook storyboards,
and I read “Dessa”: as one name,
I am not too big to make real art,
hard looks and fresh lemon bitter.
I am here between twin cities
futzing with the magazine innards
tonguing sore mouth blisters
trying to find a schedule to go on mr…
Stories of contrast black and white
waiting on bleak blue dinged seats
and this line rolls along green,
in pale hot bright summer sun seen,
malaise in my stomach sits–pits,
Snelling, Hamlin, and Lexington,
sour as such sordid sentiment,
I bike to some new on old hopes
to pay cash for a tin roof owned,
I hope it’s not too far, still sitting,
still watching, waiting, thinking:
Do people really think they are fooling
anyone waiting at the scanner’s
edge to run up on the station
without paying the correct fare?
O, bad actors must have just forgot,
the commuter theatre is free today.
June 30, 2016
a lost day
in the sun,
where we all
June 27, 2016
and the sweet
and the clover,
only had without
coming so close
to what we
had to offer,
coming so close
to what we