Posts tagged ‘hell’

October 19, 2012

No Destination. (Downtown Minneapolis)

Colorful soppy leaves under feet, what a rare occasion.

Orchards and stripped trees pray for precipitation.

 

While we bundle up to avoid a single drop.

Rain hits the roof:  Clip-Clop, Clip-Clop.

 

Drought conditions on the outside, but our minds are wet.

The clouds haven’t left Southside(!) yet.

Concerned meteorologists can rest, the day is set.

 

Fake passion, do we really care about our jobs anyway?

What do you do?

No, what do you do?

 

Not just for pay.

 

Everything is art.

 

Woken from rest by the pitter-patter and a cacophony of buzzing.

Have we heard this sound before?

Will we hear it evermore?

 

The world is drying, the world is dying.

The Midwest will be a Tropical Paradise some day.

 

Hardly a cold day in the city, hardly a month into autumn; vegetation obviates a blossom, as we gossip of the coming snow and frozen bones-we are set to dress in costume.

 

Of day, of before dawn, all dryness is gone.  Prepared, however, not.  Nothing lost.

Memories do no justice to Windchill.

 

Pavement shines, belts whine, as vehicles drive by.

 

Aggressive and agitated as the Metro Transit driver guy.

A honk from a passing friend, watch for pedestrians as you flood the skies again.

 

They are shit for shambles as they amble through the day.

Make way.

Make way, and take a gamble.

 

Traveling north by cracked roads, noticing small things; a black hat left by the wayside, debris, a soiled glove, trash, broken glass, and traffic lights flashing, dancing on glass.  Slipping past.  The minutes tick, an attempt to be on time.  Time passed.

No morning transaction is complete without me on my feet.  No one drinks if I miss the mark, few will get their fill of the bakeries heart.  The pay doesn’t matter, it’s the experience before, the journey to work, that makes it worthwhile.    

I wish people could see the streets like they are downtown in the early morning twilight.  The few, the proud, the individuals that get an unadulterated presence of Downtown pavement.  The idea that in a moments notice there will be too many ships afloat on this ocean to see.  An impossible feat, but here it is.  I wake early by occupation, by habit, by passion, for a payment, a paycheck, yet my payment is allotted before I get to the office.  Things to take in, things to think about.  Accomplished.  

Take to feet, take to bike, take flight.  Take to the night.  Live in another time, other than as you would have imagined in your life.  Maybe things have been misunderstood.  Maybe a night owl can be a day laborer, maybe the early bird can sleep late and still keep a worm on it’s plate.  On a date, on a ladder, and climbing faster while avoiding disaster.  The journey.

 

There is a world out there, on the opposite side of your schedule.  A world you can find, if you only keep difference in mind.

With or without you, this orb spins.

Getting out and about, out of the house, to take it all in.

 

I am one of the many who traverse Nicollet Mall daily.

 

***

 

And they still talk about building a Pipeline over an Aquifer.  WTF?  I thought they wanted to conserve.

Try water.

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August 23, 2012

Sleep Apnea

If you want to see me, come see me-

A lot of people do.

 

Wake up, breakfast; another day in tattered shoes, and food.

Another day to not be rude.

Another day to choose.

 

Choices challenge…

 

My mind rooted to traffic.

Oh, the sights are graphic.

-The detailed movement of people, places, and things.

 

Stop-light…

 

Finding relaxation on idea, dismissing all fear.

 

And life…

 

Life sits on a balance; feast or famine.

Embraced or abandoned.

Picked-up or stranded.

 

We get along…

 

Did you get the cash transfer?

Oh, it doesn’t matter.

Plastered, drunk again, searching for answers to pastures and grandeur; to meeting loved ones in the hereafter.

 

What a life…

 

Yet, I sit with this coffee and this debt.

Breathing easy, calming-exercise to get the weight off my chest.

Half-spent in thought.

 

She says I must have done something bad in my past to wake from my sleep like that.

I tell her nothing.

-Don’t worry.

 

She says, “Yeah, I know you.”

“So why do you sleep with me?”

“It feels safe.”

 

Pink pigment, like piglet.

I detest, not embarrassed, but I rest when she rests without regret.

Hiding stress under her dress.

 

This mess is structured…

 

My eyes take it in.  

 

We just met and she is bent-

While I keep it straight forward.

 

No time to wonder.

As she nears the border.

 

***

 

In a state of stating a statement…

 

I woke to yawn.

 

 

 

July 19, 2012

Innate Love

Lifestyles of the like are seldom centerpieces.

Mother still has hope.

Even though we reside so far from home.

 

We sit, we eat, we work, we cope.

We walk the black streets alone, insane.

She missed the prom as well.

 

Poorly lit lights and the physical descriptors never tell.

Gun shots in the distance moving near until we exit to a clear.

 

Where we exist, where we survive.

Closer to a described hell but far off from where we started.

Nightly news won’t tell the truth.

 

Lost facts of the bruised fruit.

They try to sell more as they gather a new and plentiful supply.

 

On my own.

On the phone.

 

These calls make me smile.

Father still has hope, but he doesn’t dial.

 

Seize the day.

 

Family a solid rock; not forgot.

Forget everyone else and remember self.

To wisdom and to health.

 

Such a child, all smiles.

 

No small town small time blues in these shoes.

 

All there is in the end.

All there is in the end.

 

A couple screws loose.

Just a drop in the bucket.

Tears to dust with no witness.

 

Subtly secluded.

Still rooted, a fixture, this mission.

A gifted life, but so ruthless.

 

Some walk toothless and stupid.

 

To keep real friends and real situations.

Understanding the pupils and process of dilation.

Palpable investigation to find, feel, and move.

 

A momentary aphasia.

Too nice to be rude.

 

Too ubiquitous to be stewed.

We can’t quite place it.

 

Our grandparents won’t speak.

Interrogating haunts for tangible clues.

 

We then get enthusiastic.

Remembering the details of the deceased.

 

Coming unglued.

 

With good intentions love, lovely familiarity.

Constantly with us (thankfully) until the end.

***

Too gifted with relative relations not to care, so there.