Posts tagged ‘Genius’

September 3, 2017

you cannot know ever

do go ahead, appeal to me:
be open, be thoughtful , be free.
be like the antilablists be:
no “know”, no fact, no meaning.

February 18, 2016


a true
make a
to tell

no words

so well
she is,
as she

April 9, 2015

The Best Idea that you Forgot Last Night

This wet morning I
am without
last night’s genius,

do you remember, I ask her.

It was a good one-liner.

No, she says…
I was tired.

So was I,
lacking a near pen, paper sat
on the nightstand as my head rested in
a pillow, my body under
a warm white duvet, next to her loving,

and at that moment my genius got up, jealous,
waited, and then moved to the door.

It felt all right
to let my genius
walk out and away.

Though, I hope it beat the rain.

December 2, 2013

The Sum of Small Parts

I am the makeup of freshly dead heritage,

This only proves my merit-age.


Bikes for carriages; we ride through lonely skyscrapers.


Sitting amongst crumpled papers and beer chasers,

Getting wasted is the only word-spoken disclaimer.


I’ll take your money; I’m a card-player, shark, dangerous-major, and one of the remainders.

Ask about my hand at 39’ sometime.


Language proclaimed loud and proud, with or without, making joyous sound resound between eyes of doubt.


Wanting to go home, 26 year-old- little kid, on my own in the big unknown:

-Advantage of Id.

-Afraid so I hid.

-We did what we did, called the bids and pulled the lids.


But, that was years ago,

Found time to watch blood and flesh grow.


Adult now, it’s my fault now.


I control me, watch and see.

What I am is all I can be.

I know I can pick friends but not family…


I am proud of who I am,

But I can’t speak for some of (and) them.


Then I think, like my Ma says, “you can’t win em’ all,”

And, “it’s thirty-six on Tuesday.”


What did I say anyway?

October 2, 2013


Blot out the sand from my eyes,

One finger at a time.


Remind me why we wake…

And have the day we take to date.


And say the things we’ve said

Run the thoughts from my head.


They run me through.

If you only knew.

They don’t notice you.


Dead until new.

Right here too.



Equals belief.



Equals avoid fools.



Equals go to sleep.



Equals the one right tool.


Another day.

Another day.

Another day.


What did she say?

I don’t remember, and I can’t ask her anymore.


We hope the sun will cut the haze, and then we hope for shade.

February 12, 2013

Coins In My Pocket

Snow on the ground mixed with ice seems nice.

There is less cold with precipitation; therefore, less frustration in sight.


In this weather I am just Minneapolis All Right.


Turning to the side to sneeze, in light of the sun.

Vitamin D locked and loaded, I welcome any errant rays, as it replenished my ways.

Staying focused.


Spun on my worn boots, laced to waterproof.

The temperature is heat aloof.

A mirage of warm light from sparkling snow is a natural spoof.


Walk past the traffic, pedestrians, bicyclists, and laborers at the intersection of Hennepin and 3rd; everyone going everywhere in Northeast Minneapolis, everyone busy assured.


Absorbing visual tags and stickers created by local geniuses.

I wonder if they know what kind of scene this is.


Walk on-unseen, unheard, existing in a world so absurd.

Through a parking ramp proper, through humanoid ant flow, in and out of Lund’s for sustenance I go.


Mink fur shine; a glare below, I am pondering present and past tense.

I keep my head up though.

Pondering rent, and how I used to get bent.

I keep above my lowest low.

My days were spent early and late, living with no time to relate.


Society as a whole:  Supermarketable.



Ads on everything, subtracting from life.

Sobriety (in moderation) has made me more reckless and relevant to my delight.


More rational and less bashful, written material-there’s a trash can full, for the hell of it.

Can’t tell the shit from the wit.


The connoisseur can express.


An amazing minute downtown has revealed that capitalism is abound and surrounds.

It says, I don’t care about you personally, what are your finances?


My dad said you served the Yuppies, good thing you got out.

My mom said I love you, no matter what you do, with or without.

The CEO said, who are you, what can you give me, is that gluten free, is that organic juice?

I suppose it all is true, we do what have to do to get on and get through.


Now, inside:

A panacea of color robbed my eyes of their fixed flat accustoms; winter months had stripped the tangent brightness from daily life.

Except for the white.

Except for the bright.

Except for the night.


Hey, I’d rather be a starving artist.

Hey, the Pope quit too.

Hey, God, this must be a sign.

Hey, Terry, this was overdue.


I stuck my gloves in my pockets and heard a sound and felt what was arranged.

The coins in my pocket signify change.

I walked forward through the snow.

February 9, 2013

It Ain’t The Prettiest (Midwest In General)

A bunch of much of the same; Midwest-mold ubiquitous like the plague.

Break the routine like sinking into a grave.


I hear it on the radio, I see it in print.


Seen it, done it, heard it before.

I wonder, how long of a stint?


How much more, how much more?


Shit-sound galore.

Shit-material, what’s the score?


As if underground hip-hop is Amateur Hour Club at the dive, or just horribly inarticulate karaoke.

Something to be, don’t be.

Are you doing this jokingly?


Coffee from place to place.

The good stuff.

State your case, case your state.


Jumping on trend like an almost missed bus.

Jumping on love like lust.

Then bust.


As if Portland is Minneapolis.

Getting coal in exchange for your Christmas Wish List.


As if vise versa, or versa vice.

Who gives a shit, right?


As if La Crosse is cultured.

All progress has been haltered.


I’ll drink a beer on it.


The holidays are over, winter should be gone.

The year 2012 is over, you should be gone.

Why not go to the nearest local Coffee Shop and write an inspiring song?


Too much on my plate to save space, save time, save face.


Back to earth without a trace.

Cool beans, I love you too.


I am all right.


Passive aggressive, throwing it up like it’s the flu.

Done with the mundane typical spew.


Amy Winehouse is dead.

The Current is begging for money.

The government is still funny.


I’d rather talk same sex marriage and control of guns.

I’d rather talk homeless people on the streets and my lack of funds.


How about you?


Bowie came out and did it again.

Came out and did something boring, my friend.


Prince is talking about sex, breakfast, and an orange juice and vodka drink, and what do people think?

Such a genius, he is on the brink.


We came for the Atmosphere and left when we heard of The Chalice.

Breaking through the sacred palace of this fruitful scene, thinking:  I will literally burn this motherfucker down, I promise you, I mean this.  P.O.S. can throw as many

Molotov cocktails as possible, Tyler Durden is on my side.


Freddie Mercury called, he wants all of his ideas, sounds, moves, and lyrics back.


I have something to be excited about:  Something different, something advanced, something true.


You just got Ninja Mind Fucked.

January 26, 2013

Perfect Morning Placement (Still-life Vagrant)

She said (some of this):


Passion is where your hands are at.


The moment you realize hotels never have quality coffee…

You have one in your hands…


The moment you realize the last thing you need is an ice cold beer…

You have one in your hands…


Love is in your hands.


My girl is back; my dick still works.

My ex says I have only one good quality:  A sense of humor…


I say perks.


She calls pretty regular

Smiles are not her concern.


I say adjunct.


I’m still laughing.

It was a joke that we lasted so long, yet nothing is right or wrong.


The aftermath is where the real comedy lies.

After that one has to decide.


Perfect morning placement.

There are so many different arrangements.


Big teeth, big eyes, no lies.

The truth is its good.


Staying in 3 different places, in 3 different stages, in 3 different ranges.

Enjoying the Now placement, living like a vagrant.




Train travel babble.

Ride the rails like thoughts, its hard to get lost when there is no destination.




And she asks on some social media site, “Do I know you?”

And I answer, “Probably not.”

January 2, 2013

My Type (Like Me)

My type of girl might like me if she likes:


To take advantage and fight, or take full flight.

Or drink beers.

Or watch the stars at night.


On a moderate cash stash.


Or grab your girls ass.

Or laugh.

Or leave-


And get back fast.


Top class with a hall pass on everyday typical situations-

My pitch is for patience.


My time and the people around me are ageless and painted.


Not fleeting occasions, but I will visit some for a moment.


Sitting patient in the basement while others get disintegrated by the nearest bomb placement.

Adjacent awesome, blossoming like a daisy with a supply of water as plentiful as the ocean.


As far as you can see.

You hear me?


And others think I am lazy or crazy, thank you John Lennon.


He is thought-some.


Focused and fantastic.

To others it’s a tragedy and drastic.

They are made of plastic and spastic; damaged like broken elastic.



They snap.


Thinking about the time they didn’t have it, and the time they still don’t.


And they won’t.

(But how?)


But I won’t joke.


I think its time for practice.

The 5 p’s to avoid a choke.


The shit like that’s it, and we sink the boat that you chose float.

I quit, so you can rest easy.

I write the stuff you quote.


And I am favorably friendly to most.

That’s it.


From above:

Likes me for who I am and who I want to be-

Who I am, you see…

Just like me.