Posts tagged ‘English’

February 17, 2018


cold, and the famous old man statue
conjures me with a grimace of polished rust.
walking the circle on St Paul campus, I see
naked trees, they are hung up with rope;
scholars going somewhere on them to the the sunshine.
just above the snow and ice and frost and knots.
cutting my buzzed sheen head, skimming my glance.
a glare off the white. constant this time, lunch…
and we just spoke softly of bugs and his Vietnam
and Hodson in letters, inquests, and ways to
go about taking care of others’ dogs.
and making dog food and fixing end boards.
cold, there, cold outside. had a coffee too.
just walking around the circle, such is life.

January 20, 2018

some new problems came up on the 16 bus, so did you think the snow was bad, tell me what you think about the weather and the Vikings games i need to forget everything else and pretend everything is awesome…

snow out the window sinks
tightens and stretches
like the budget that we forgot to mention.
a 16 bus floats down University avenue,
Green Line aside; all the bars i can’t visit.
man behind the wheel says peek-a-boo
and hello and hey and whistles.
“i’ll stay inside for the Superbowl,”
but it’s triple overtime i think, line the pocketbook.
guy who doesn’t pay the fare: he looks like you!
i know, i love it and smile to my self.
in a basement studio with no meaning.
in a basement studio language, meaning, lofty.
to Aldi for diapers pickles and popcorn.
no more phone, calls on Google Home.
what if god was one of us? just a sloth like one of us.
2018 tragedies carried over from last year and the 90s.
i want to be bob dylan, i want everyone to love me.
everybody wants to be cats. dance the silence…
that’s just about as funky as you can be.
still the tears pile up.
they are puddles piled as metaphors high as the sky.
some other poet could write it better probably.
one thing goes wrong, next a million.
who isn’t tired, who isn’t trying their best?
no worries though, budgeting.
never been on a better diet, 3 notches in my belt.
grow muscle, grow bitter about society, lose weight: dad diet.
friends wives call to sell health, well…
tell the ads to go to hell.
we literally can’t afford to buy anything right now, for years.
AND i thought we were friends?
new phone, sorry who is this, i lost your number again…
shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
the snow sinks and turns to brown water.
all thoughts of fall and crisp leaves and warm sleeves.
please help me make the rent so i
can make the daycare so i can teach English
and get 7 on reviews when i need a 10
and their internet is at fault, shithole internet.
i wonder if it is mine and speed test and it’s fine.
project Fi treats me like a child.
i am blue davy dee davy da… blue.
my bank treats me like indentured servitude.
then reading memos on fact-based privilege.
tell me more about me that i don’t know about me.
the way i go, i am a pale robot, i am a terminator.
with emotions, with new days, between oceans.
the way i go i talk about the snow.

December 17, 2017

Breaking News is Tragic Theatre, bring Popcorn

While the world is ending
supposedly (every day now per whoever…)
i want to eat pizza and cheese curds,
drink fresh water and OJ and
watch the Vikings win in real time
and dream about good weather. SUch Fantasy.
Weekends are dead before they begin anyway.
Pounding words into a strange keyboard morning,
hacking lifeblood into some toilet.
I thought antibiotics would help.
I thought the inhaler would help.
Telling me there is bigger problems
for people who aren’t me, damn.
but when you shut off the TV there aren’t
very many to remember, recalling,
so why would I want it to remind me so?
We play cards against humanity.
We want fair but fair ain’t that great.
And we put the seat up out of respect.
We ask for scandal because it interests,
stake our claims on being
taken for fools, look see: news. Buy this new thing.
Tell her you love her with consumerism.
All while the world is ending.
Can a person resign from this animal planet?
I am selling my whole life to make ends meet.
tho maybe they don’t want to.
paying medical bills and insurance simultaneously to no avail.
One bag, drill, shoe, tent, book at a time.
This channel will tell me all about all
the problems I should focus on today, because.
Still some people just die in traffic.

December 13, 2017

sick n tired n stuff

There is chorus of coughs 
On a public library floor,
Amongst books, and shelves, and tech.
She sits at the desk, by the door
Think of Petri dish, its wish…
Think of blownout tissues, depressed.
Of flu shots and hot lead.
Stomach in tight knots, gut rot red.
For blue antibiotics.
Need more peaceful rest.
To the holiday season,
I do my best.
No more hate news.
Just the local weather.
No more making light of asthma;
Im on an inhaler.

December 8, 2017

best thing ever (dadlife)

being a dad is the best thing ever,
every day is the set of Home Alone;
toys every where and not.
laughs like me, cant believe.
leftovers make a secular search for god.
wondering what people do w/o progeny.
here: smiles, hugs, kisses, squeals.
away from family: a wasted life, my ideals.
my identity politic is father, parent–never stop.
is there a movement for me, a protest?
daycare should have been a savings plan.
healthcare should be for free.
i am a parent too: parental leave?
these are minor things for the positive he brings.
always, i get to come home to
the idea of raising a new person.
of giving everything for someone else.
of not caring about what
everyone has to say about bullshit that doesn’t matter,
only a little man who speaks baby
and doesnt judge hard and
can tell all with paralanguage
that he has a poopy or pee-pee or he cant sleep.
(well neither can i, but i cant change it. ;))
or that he loves me. no stranger gives you that.
no group can make you feel.
no great positive review, book of poetry, no other adoration.
no award is worth it in so many ways.
write some modern prose about that if you can.
if you havent i suggest you try.
i dont miss wasted hours in bed anymore.
confused about where. now, i am me, standing.
happy to be here and have a buddy.
happy to wake up and know
that i have to be my best so he can too.
nothing like it in the world.
its something to see.

December 6, 2017

really not sure

change fix solve cast dream: the things that define us non-animal in the kingdom sect and put us here with a bank account vanquished and time to dwell up our fortunes and the former. change fix tragedy nightmare.

from couch sit to morgue nap. from morning to twilight dusk. making things happen since 1987. a river ran through it. i am not sure where… time stood still. buildings came down for novel firmaments, questionable tenements where coffee shops once resided, mused, and inspired.

seen oceans drained in travel, bluffs grew in 10 minutes during a hike, a lifetime of praise ended by a verb on some capitalistic network citing neo-Marx. rather make change than complaint in the subzero sunlight. here for now, gone some time then. really not sure. i guess i guess.

and the really not sure bit, that’s true.

November 23, 2017

beer brats

meat in a                                           pot
drown                        in                                         beer
boil for                                      ten                   minutes
talk                            about things
almost               boils over
medium heat
on a                                                                  frying pan
brown,           not blacken           the sides

still raw
pale                                               as ghosts
cut                      through
kraut          and ketchup
after,                                                            sesame buns
plates, grease
and that is how you
cook              beer brats

November 18, 2017

ghosts cannot kill

life after life
life after this coffee is gone, slipped out of its cup
computer screens bleeping, drama queens screaming
after a walk in the woods, after silence
thoughts of my father
pop up like mushrooms in spring,
me as a father now especially
as that one spire, strident, fixture in my life
once was, as afraid of the dark
as bumps in the night, he stands there
dead eyes, calming, voided, silhouette doorway
telling me the same thing he told me to make me feel safe:
a ghost has never killed anyone in the history of time,
no one has died from seeing a ghost,
and if i were going to die i would have done it by now
he told me that without exaggeration
i wonder are they real
or are they just gone when they are

November 12, 2017

sunday apex

Beautiful Sunday morning
dark AM morphing from
empty pews’ attrited time
to quiet hymns breathing sigh

November 9, 2017


…cuts like lemon juice in fresh new wounds,
sun through a glass pane, on moving trains,
winnowed and splintered of some past, tracing paths,
shadows track, as setting chairs–act to react,
they read it then to them whose ears come aroused,
loudly now, then silent humming sounds,
falling as domino, crests, and November maple leaves,
falling on broken knees, scabs, and chipped shoulder blades,
here, found, at the entry way, at dusk, here, i wait.
found, enough to be lost and forgotten. then nothing.
then something about skewed imagery: everyday, everyday.