Posts tagged ‘god’

October 23, 2017

Everyday social

Find your
Tranquil
State
In silly
Memes.

Advertisements
September 21, 2017

reflections of you

i figure a mirror,
start treating others
how you are treated
and if they get mad
so what? …
open the windows on morning light,
we find there is none,
and stalkers walking by,
close them fastly sharp,
i see the sidewalks empty
these chipped frames have no subjects,
eat my pancakes in scarfs.
tell ears that i am political
with taking care of our child,
tell her watch and see.
actions sound better than words to me,
but the words that form them… i don’t know.
i figure a mirror, watch me be you.
watch me learn from you.
did you write this lesson, or is it improvised?
do you like how it feels?
do you like how I deal the cards?
no matter, like the mirror
i just stand and reflect, inverted, obscured,
catch you as you go by when
you turn on the lights to glow
and even when you don’t.

June 2, 2017

one part in the whole open

implements monitor,
asphalt, gasoline, cigarettes,
mechanisms, structures held by sand
to the inevitable collapse;
then clasp down, then clamp, then tamp it,
wires of a root canal like,
telling me positive to be
telling me otherwise, go.
no room for downcast eyes, limiting ideas.
coffin for thinking outside the box.
fate doesnt care about your beliefs
when it happens and you think miracle
a secular part will think fortune, strange,
and others will says wow, my idol.
truly it did happen
the song and dance on what spins freely
no matter politic or particular or purpose
great person you are or you are not
no matter, it doesnt.
that architect that does not think
could not ever care for it and that.

July 22, 2015

Chance Apologetic

Atonement for guilt
simply of being;

humans the way we are,
the unjust that we do.

Fixing all past, present, and future
with institutions, and enigmas—

what is there for neutral
and nothing,

if everything
is
wrong or right?

July 17, 2015

In a Crowd of Clowns

Dead artists & counterfeit idealists
Travel same paths I’ve once roamed.
To judge, to assert, as one were God—
Step off of your high-founded throne.

May 22, 2015

The Miracle of You

That great idea sparkled,
imagining a self that is beyond oneself,
though alike all others,
but different.

Where breathing air is a miracle
of filling a mass, and seeing for sight
a mechanism viewed, not closely near to being understood,
nor recreated.

And flesh and bone, a false creationism,
one of God, of man—of both alike;
the muse so exactly measured,
so detailed and defined and primed.

To discuss it would be off topic.
So, let’s cut to the chase.
Realism in truth, no “isms” could deduce it
to reasons or plainness, or a way to prove it in ways.

There is nothing and everything all at once, just waiting, just waking,
and this time it is just you who steps out of the front door to go.

Au revoir

May 21, 2015

Pre-Open Mic on Nicollet Avenue

Streetlamps poured
a waxen yellow glow on the Nicollet Avenue scene below,
as above heavens danced and sparked white
as now onlookers stood and watched.

The hum of vehicular masses turned to a city of cratered paths,
while people were lit as props, good and evil,
coming and going about their static business.

This nature in society, framed, isolated—what we have;
metal grasps of synthetic hands
coming to and shaping us,
to make up our wake up, to shake up our trust.

Bleeding oil, exhausting fumes,
killing cows, and loud preaching fools;

we exist as a populous,
with meaningful purpose, and American sentimentalism.

Illuminated here by streetlamp’s waxen yellow glow, on Nicollet,
under heavens about to open wet,
mingling with ghosts of our yesterday,
with whole cultures of churches and states to thank.

Amen.

April 4, 2015

Easter Poem

The Easter Bunny
died,

and three days later
he rose again…

with a bunch
of

fucking candy.

March 22, 2015

Perfect Artist

Sharing small town concepts,
language, in hopes to pave a path;

at a bar stool conversation,
after an empty whisky shot throat-sting,
as beer bubbles trace a 1/3 full pint glass.

One local could move forward with art,
or make it easy—take a step back.

Laugh , and seize the moment…
I think about it…
I say: but the proof is only if it kills you,
your art,
Bukowski said that,
I sort of believe the man.

We are not perfect artists, really—no one is,
the evidence is: we are still alive, mostly.

See: I’ve been to a few funerals;
I know the end of my story will be
surrounded by a shovel, dirt, words, and a box.

Then, a man I don’t know will tell others about me.

There’s advertising.

(The real artist is the priest who doesn’t know you acting like he does,
he swears to god. You were good, though god doesn’t understand death.)

Then, no more art will come out of you,
but they will hear it.

That is the perfect artist and art.
That is the truth, perhaps.

March 7, 2015

dream life

Coming to with a pin-prick realization
at waking moment’s light,

out of a dream more like real-life than itself,
a concept: that our perspectives are the only reality we see;

we were only dreaming then, we are
only dreaming now, we are but dreamers—

as fast beams of light we flash in dark skies,
and in the still night everything is fine.