Posts tagged ‘Being’

May 17, 2017

reinventing the wheel

adulting is a non-stop everything, everywhere and always. no more mac-n-cheese naps with mommy and mr. rogers. keep the bathroom open. listen for the monitor. wake up early, that’s late. eat later, after the feeding. get used to it. dont try.
try not to complain. the heat will turn up. the cold will come. the furnace will die. never really had AC, so… the bills will grow higher in a pile until they start to call your phone from unknown numbers that look familiar. growing. like your gray hairs. like your thin patience. like your elongated nose and drooping ears. coffee stained teeth black holes between. like the grass when you let it go for 2 weeks. and still, humans turn to antique glass. fragile to the touch, sagging at the bottom, blemished for worth. thicker and distorted. probably gravity we blame. and the wheels will stop. and the wheels will fall off. kick them tho. be ready to get down and dirty and fix it, even if you aren’t a pro. that’s how it goes. a new something for you to find a new way to fix a new something. reinvent the wheel why don’t ya? –for gods sake. or try to imagine a time when and where things get much easier and you grow softly younger and everyone thinks positively the same, that they are happy too… and you can keep your wisdom at that.

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May 2, 2017

a most tragic death

i think of an all right time
when the most tragic death occurs,
all will know, of course,
in a time of The Voice
and Reddit and justice movements
(goes along with it)
and wanting atonements and fast wishes,
so social it makes
me sick to my 8 minute abs,
more dirty than the morning dishes,
makes me want to turn eunuch introvert,
makes me want to not be invertebrate,
makes me want you to
get dressed backwards
while speaking in new snake tongues–how fun,
while your self-abuse heals you timid.
i think of it now, and i don’t cry.
i think of it now, and i don’t try.
the obituary will read:
… was a totally normal person without
any addiction problems or malfunctions,
absolutely in tune with all in the room
–you can tell by the photos and likes and comments too–proof–
… dies in a tragic Facebook accident
only somewhat entirely consumed.
yes, they did. taken too soon.
and there will be no laughter.
and there will be no hereafter.
and you won’t have to worry about what your friends will think.
because it will all be more real
than the network could handle,
more real than your profile is just now.

April 30, 2017

new motivation: no reprieve, no peace

they say fix one problem at a time
and then you reach the base of a mountain,
trying to stay warm and dry
and then it rains–why?,
you can see the dampness on the walk outside.
they tell you to get a real job,
get a second too, and still you are a slave
for land that you will never own
and always pay for on your own, drone…
and most of the poets i know talk about the
biggest problems/issues/talking points, ones that are truly
out of the imagination across the nation–seems
nice and unbelievable, only because
i have fought wars over paying rent
abused furniture because of college debt.
it was really nothing personal, but it follows your person.
as if just doing and getting focused is cake.
seems nice to be able to forget, to relate.
seems nice to be able to hesitate, wait…
doing that no more, the more chores.
rents in St Paul are like walking through closed steel doors.
and then you wake up in it.
decide, now. buy now. i want to hide now, some how.
all ashamed, all to blame, all made UP, games.
solve one of them at a time,
and the floodgates just opened,
flames in a paper factory surrounded by 40 gas stations,
and about a million dying suns,
and they start another protest.
they write another book that their editor/publisher friends like.
i am just hoping the tomatoes don’t die
in the backyard cold–draped with ragged blankets
that might be food later,
and that another collection agency doesn’t call
i’ve tried to block them all…
all because i was sick
all because of insurance
all because of medical
all because of this.
i told my colleague a joke onetime about how if
the mafia came and broke your legs with baseball bats
you would have to deal with something worse
right after:
and that is the health care industry
of america. yeah. go fix that, you activists.
i pray that you never get sick, in a secular way.
one thing at a time, becoming an extra.
now please donate to my cause.

June 14, 2016

us americans

i am sick of
neighbors

and candidates
caring

about which
way my

wind blows…

turn your eyes
tender beings

the windows
are going shut

the curtains
are being drawn

not even my
reflection

to see

on this
open glass

sheer facade

not even
ever me.

*

and
if it
were
it would
be shown
all
wrong
for
concern
and
poor
inter-
pre-
tation.

May 15, 2016

craft (where to start)

i’ve seen
a million people
craft
a million excuses

only to find
themselves

where
they started
in the first place

this craftwork
is for others

unfortunately

i am bad
at lying
to myself

and staying put

May 13, 2016

15 minutes or less

i see desperation in this fable:
they want to be so badly noticed
for situations and placement
of mainstream sordid pasts;
not unlike the light rail horns
at stray pedestrians midst tracks,
headphones in–blaring, at Huron’s bend.
and we pray they see it coming,
the rumble, the sharp metal–over…
and we don’t decipher to which god,
make believe for a lifestyles–
(why tell them any different?)
someone or something has to stop it,
at the corner of life and death, trivial
and just about noticed for nothing
there are people watching content.

March 11, 2016

walking the dale at lunch

Stepping through tall blonde prairie grass
I leave one modern world quickly behind,
busy it buzzes & calls in sirens & hums,
lost out here on my own, biding my time.

March 8, 2016

up NE

positivity
in the face
of adversity

no matter
what
neighbor street,

no matter
what
office room.

NE library
the desk lady
says no jobs,

even though
we just
pass through,

even though
we ask true.

and it was
light bulbs
and bike frames,

and it was
rush hour
and dive bars;

and it
was where
we are

and where
we’re going,

near or far.

But up NE.

February 26, 2016

For-Profit Poets (What Bugs Me)

i wonder if the gnat in the shower mist
understands that money changes art.
the very idea of creating something for
pay transforms the something you create.

as if you aren’t going at it for self,
but now going at it for millions. this comedian
bug in our bathtub garden had the sense of
humor to remind me the importance of not

knowing, of not assuming, of not trying to be
the best in any situation, because there is only
self happiness inspired by the true muse.
and nothing more. and those words changed

for the pennies they paid, and some poets
would rather fill their bank accounts than self
actualize. and especially not talk about it.
notice it in similar words and formulas and

themes around these twin towns. i’ve seen
art on the green line, art on the transit, art
at the office desk top in non-profit form that
gave more to the world, so much more.

and i’ve begged and asked of some time to
merely experience, and some think they
have a chance at competition that proves
nothing more than some of us like just this.

February 7, 2016

Too many is never enough (You’re Not Alone)

It’d be a shame to not realize…

this breakfast has more passion,
my tongue has more taste;
the bold world we now live in,
everyone’s got something to say.

Oh, you’re also a local writer?
Oh, you write about injustices too?
See, I want something truly novel,
I really want something new.

And what about the morning coffee?