Posts tagged ‘culture’

February 12, 2018

point the finger

the tragedy of our misadventure
begins when we blame others
for where we stand now.

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January 26, 2018

waiting for the green line train at west bank station in the snow and cold and heat around 4:36 p.m.

the smell of a late afternoon lunch
enough, enough for snow to melt
imagining debt without a time clock
or vise versa–in some time only fixated…
dusting between keys on a keyboard, jet black
creating something like this, and that, unnoticed unawares
moby-dick for meaning of meaningful meaning
they tell me i have books to pick up
some stand on the shelves like straight soldiers
some crack like and egg in my hand at breakfast
they tell me have a good weekend & we just got over the flu
google will better my photo of West Bank, only soon
words won’t come so easy after that tune
some things just look better in digital format
i will wait for the train, again, here
amongst people who wait for the train, again, here
praising not having to wait for her, once were
wondering what’s in that guys hand, that guys bag
no one puts things on the floor anymore
picking up my little man
waiting for another to arrive–O’ plans: we had
and he asked me what i was eating as if it were bad
i told him what and who made it, of course
man my stomach was starting to feel good just then
thought this before the train came.

January 21, 2018

as your lovely boat is sinking on the horizon, it’s all being caught on camera for everyone else to review later as they eat

your dinghy is sinking
slowly,
five tens and twenties–no worries
a tube is distracting
asking you
to invest in triangle shirts
and help a flooded mass institution prosper,
their sharks spin wild
blood in these gray waters,
coming for you, now, every day rising, surfacing:
account negative and sinking
no life jackets, no reprieve,
no stopping these silent, faceless monsters, as
your enemies await at their beach house afar
funded by you,
filming the metaphor of your financial demise,
to later monetize it on YouTube..
open that periscope,
your actual debt death sells,
asking you to buy into it.
all problems are yours but your own.
telling these pills will cure your buyers remorse more later.
now, now, now, now, now, got to have it.
look the same, talk the same, feel the same or shame.
you need that new thing, Jack.
like that life jacket voided yesterday, today, tomorrow again.
oh, it will happen, that water will come up edging.
those teeth will close fast and faster.
stomach twisting.
theirs need to be filled.
but carry those signs which do not signal you for better,
and shout language that does not tell your story true.
the more in the water, the greater the feast.
and show that you do care
because they don’t when they eat.

February 11, 2017

skill

these poets have got skill
they ought to make gods
out of straw men
with fists up to disrupt
in groups large enough
not to miss
but for a singular idea;
for the entirety
individuality has left the building
like they say Elvis once did
and
they prefer and
persuade yours’ gone too, verily–
auf wiedersehen, jetzt;
tho irony poses a problem
when
you think about that purpose
without thinking about that principle,
a group think showing
others to not think
for themselves: so don’t; ironically,
for some everything
can be a problem, depending on the message,
similarly with the critic
at a convention of their beat–they just have to;
still there is nothing new under the sun.
but as arms of automated
recycling trucks
reaching out with care
at soon to be new old shit
these poets
could fall like building 7
16 years ago September, to grey dust
by one true statement,
fall like a beggar’s budget
at two buck chuck,
and then break
their wrists patting their own backs
as if they made
that poignant prose
so much their own,
accordingly their every breathe
is arrogance.
let’s call it “skill” anyway.

July 7, 2016

a traffic stop in St. Anthony

humans in their ways find shelter,
to hide from that such news
which they do not understand, in ways
to keep to keeping, to keep on
and go, and most–and i, will never “get it”
the agency of those in such high towers aloft
and their fears they decide on,
to encase and to deal fateful cards
to those so swiftly and so finally so nearly
in such a manner, so wrongly,
in circumstances we could all now weep,
for the images we see we are all now there.

May 28, 2016

mill city farmer’s market

all the dogs, kids, babies wrapped, framed glasses, young and old, unpotted plants, jarred goods, dark corners–green, passing glances, new movie–new drama, new play: this life; capitalism, theatre, chefs on wheels, circus donuts, french cuisine croissants, organic, ham & cheese, natural, unconventional, cemented, photographed, painted, produced product soon to be purchased, some with cameras capture, stacked red brick, grey antiquated silos, expensive strollers, progressive shoes, obvious fashion–uptown, trending, voluptuous crimson flowers in jetblack stands wet under overcast and old industry, windowpane mirrors to their looking-glass self, vain vanity, standing, walking, waiting, exchanging money–dirty dinged, marketing to the reader–know what they like, showing, seeing, watching, staring, a part of it apart, breaking up lines, holding bags, spoken in broken inquiry and trailing text, cellphones attracting, selfies, a standard saturday morning, portrait untrained, looking for the next big thing next to the mighty mississippi, lovers holding hands: small parade, saying that is “interesting” and that is “funny” all in one rolled up ball, the life passing the torch in the center of mill city; here neighborhoods and neighbors converge just doing their weekend thing while others do their weekend thing this weekend at this bizarre bizaar of the farmer’s market crowd locally famous feigning outdoorsyness, notice my attention, epicenter aloof, just walking around individual circumstance, something for profit with a non-profit feel, feeling good but not doing good, and how others have planned their situations at the moment going by mine going by theirs going by. and gone.

December 29, 2015

Ode to Inventing Ireland

we were a dark pink
dawn over Paris

the Libertines of
South Liffey

Gaelic winds
of Aran nights

ferry and bus rides
to another time

we were an ocean away
and of new mind

with wide eyes
of grand sights

abroad we travelled
abroad we’d find

we were inventing
Ireland, we were alive

November 14, 2015

Three Colors with One (of Paris)

There is solidarity abroad
while a nation is divided.
There is difference assigned,
as senseless tragedies occur.

There are three colors shown
with pictures of broken glass.
There are groups crossing lines
with lists & scores outdated.

There is talk of how and why
and who and what, unknown.
There is confusion on screens
and some parts of the whole.

And we really wonder about us.
And we really wonder who that is.

September 14, 2015

uptown shine

exactly knowing & accurate
judgement are as frequent
as authenticity in the bar
lights & sidewalks of uptown.

August 27, 2015

The Minnesota State Fair

Be
Fair.