this would make me empassioned, or
impassioned. i am passionate about this something…
that’s how i get
who’ve never left the states
try to fix
other people’s problems
their English language exclusively.
the irony of westernization; fixed only by itself. YOU SEE?
and that is what they call backwards and selfish.
tho, there will be no stories of this on the news.
because just get out there and disrupt because.
and they should
call those who
think locally “nationalists” too.
a bunch of loud fools.
you know, somethings don’t translate.
you know, people might have different opinions.
this is how language works.
so when they/you designate
their/your ideas, ideations, and ideologies
as such, i just smh in realtime.
so silly, so stupid, so same.
that is why i am a where-ever-i-am-at-ist,
because i am right there,
i can attempt to understand
what i see and experience around me,
for me, for truth, for better.
maybe even for you…
but honestly, not for you (i don’t care)
or the tv (forget tv), i won’t facebook livestream it
or create a clever sign that
gets thrown away next day in some ironic carbon footprint
(that you too should actually hate)
after the post and the filter and the likes–fretter fakes.
and that is what i am passionate about,
or empassioned about, or impassioned about,
all that is around me
because i can touch it tangible,
as they said, i can feel the real,
i can set the clock next to the bed.
and there is something about language and labels.
i love bacon on foggy sundays
talking about past “friends”
reliving vivisection nightmares
and discussing English language.
of course, in a room full of
nametags and coffee and questions;
we are all teachers together,
except i hold my head
and wait for my lenses to change colors.
of course, came in late
and i don’t believe in
your political beliefs
too busy haggling with customer service
finding use where their is none.
she rubbed her inner thighs.
the sun was out though.
telling people what i think-thought-theory
is a litmus test for your sanity;
without commanding a sharp group
and/or their thoughts simultaneously.
the clock didn’t have numbers.
touch fingertips when you’ve found a partner.
would rather tell google to play
“hold on for one more day”
than subscribe to what is
imagined outside of the bubble; i can see too.
i will eat the whole pig and its face too.
i really don’t care when it comes to food.
a survivalist eats it cold.
Texas Chainsaw Massacre meets Walker Texas Ranger.
and i love sundays and bacon
and waking up not from surgery
or extremely hung-over and broke
and having my wife and son
right here next to me.
i like getting paid.
i didn’t waste last night at a bar
trying to tell my “friends”
i believed in what they thought
so they could like me again
when i don’t.
would rather make enough money to sleep on,
would rather. and you can
find me with bacon and without.
you can find me smiling, ready.
an empty glass
with coins. $52.something.
turned into food.
the capital hanging
its pale dome
on the dim shoulders’
of University Ave
in the fore.
there, loving couples
at a cross-
and am now.
the statue of liberty
played by a man,
holding this bright sign:
we pay cash inside,
how american, on this corner.
i sit in a turn
pulling to the side,
brown bags and
local ipas in the trunk,
mouthing an old song
in Drive–mechanic’s glove hands,
tight grip on
the supple wheel.
all before 11 am
crossing Lexington Parkway
and light rail tracks
in St Paul, going, hungry, mad.
and then, thinking of
a hotel in Belfast
conversing continental divides
and the divided conversation,
and the painted murals,
people took photos
on their phones
inside of a bus because we couldn’t safely get out.
Once when I was in community college
I took a class called “Eco-Feminism”.
I was one of four guys.
I was not a majority by numbers,
That is a fact, no lie.
Each day our teacher spoke of monsters,
She said they used and abused women and the land;
They would take take take take take take take take,
To attain everything the women and the land had.
These monsters never slept,
They were pale,
They were exacting,
They were mean.
They lived in mansions at the top of the world fixed with panoptic eyes.
She said these monsters were real, they were white, European, and sly.
I never resented a day in that class,
But sometimes I felt singled-out, and tried.
I learned how to label people right,
Though those people resembled me physically-
They were not like I.
Sometimes clattered on the desk,
Wearing his nails long;
Hollow bones or dead teeth,
Moving with gestures-
-Words on gender and pleasure.
One must point the finger
In a mirror
To find out.
Once to be challenged
Once to be inspired.
Ah, the English Major exacting his critiques on me…
God save silence, God save Education, God save humility.