Posts tagged ‘Lies’

June 10, 2015

Unmoving

Ears of creation
Heard close on actions promised,
But what of the hands?

Advertisements
May 31, 2015

A Media Inspired Solution to Everything (Modern Movements)

A pair of eyes stare at the “problem”.
A single mind labels, calculates, and retains.
A pair of hands do nothing for meaningful progress.
Another group of “activists” yell: change!, change!, change!

April 8, 2015

Coffee Sippin’ Reflections while Reading

There was an attractive space recently filled,
I read,
which became an empty void.

That empty void,
I read,
became a great opportunity.

That great opportunity,
I read,
became a fleeting moment.

That fleeting moment of great opportunity of an empty void,
I read,
was then filled whole.

In the process of planning,
I read,
you missed the entire occurrence.

O now how the coffee tastes
so bitter at the bottom,
I read.

February 26, 2015

Bakken through Minneapolis

Night black as Bakken
oil, which malignly pours past silent
communities,

shipped in cryptic-marked tanker cars
under cover of darkness, rightly
so, they move obtusely opaque—

opposite downtown lights which stick to a wetted haze
in the distance, making this Midwest city glow
for miles—some say 150 of them away.

The shit we’ve seen, and haven’t.

That which creeps along can be found in a jet, in
a car, or on foot,

in hardened
rock snow-crust, cold as a
flushed-toilet shower’s mist—you know; everything
is connected, retraced, unplugged,
tubed, tied, aborted,
and rewind.

Truths for lies:
This is safe,
This is fact,
This in fact is safe,
We care about you.

It is snug-up, or snug-down, or
just snug enough, or caught in between comfortable,
and I can’t go outside,
I have to decide.

Then it is: A pub visit, a flipped
switch, a lit door in the distance—these
palm trees have become foreigners
in desert sands which have turned to mud
by native rain power in your very living room
by way of: your very hand;

the vessel you hold,
repurposed from some ornate
decoration, from some ornate
description, from so-and-so’s ornate party,
or from some ornate magazine—ornate parts
of these

-Cult clubs.

And that is life:
black as night as petro ships by, as exhaust fumes fly,
as exhausted you sleeps, you snore, you don’t think;
as an “elected” official’s bank account goes cha-ching,
as a CEO draws outside of the lines, and talks energy.

(of course we need)

as the air goes in and out
of his mouth,
and in and out,
and in and out—

Like fucking, really.
Hey, you thought it. 🙂

Humans without a care,
they are there happily unawares.

With smiles on their dreaming faces,
as that napalm tube rolls on steel wheels in their backyards.

December 5, 2014

They were not like I.

Once when I was in community college
I took a class called “Eco-Feminism”.

I was one of four guys.

I was not a majority by numbers,
That is a fact, no lie.

Each day our teacher spoke of monsters,
She said they used and abused women and the land;
They would take take take take take take take take,
To attain everything the women and the land had.

These monsters never slept,
They were pale,
They were exacting,
They were mean.

They lived in mansions at the top of the world fixed with panoptic eyes.
She said these monsters were real, they were white, European, and sly.

I never resented a day in that class,
But sometimes I felt singled-out, and tried.
I learned how to label people right,
Though those people resembled me physically-

They were not like I.

December 1, 2014

One Wonders (Camp Cult)

One wonders,

Have I missed a step?
Am I still asleep?
Has the logic left?

Oh, to think again… Now I don’t “know”.

November 28, 2014

Every Story has a Companion

It’s really easy
To look at one side of a story,
And to be affected
By just that one side.

But what I’ve found throughout the years,
Hours of thought,
Hard-work,
And beers-

Is that more often than not, that one side of the story is not alone.

Words and interpretation are never the exact
Same,
Objective,
Way.

Except for apparently in America,
In August, last week, right now, and today.

August 7, 2014

downtown La Crosse, circa 2006.

Buying the Tribune
in the morning
in downtown La Crosse,
velvet touch-

A Coffee,
walk the redbrick sidewalk.

Past the Bodega,
and Chairs,
and last night’s Cigarette Butts,

washing dishes in the back of some restaurant.

Faux-Progressive airs;
Talking a lot, stale-
actions and words; NOTICE: they talk a lot.

Burnt-Out Transcendentalists,
watching drunks, and pre-cancer patients and cars being parked—

Save the day.

Wearing shorts under blue skies.

Call clandestine spies, looking up at the corner apartment window-
wondering what’s inside__
… As she wakes,

long legs lie.

Moving, thinking, that fresh brewery smell, now new adult.

In summer heat- beating down,
The Mississippi River on the breeze—cesspool,

I walked back from where I had come
trying to not feel so numb.

Because I had to walk back.

July 13, 2014

Sociopolitical

Sociopolitical,
as lipstick and licorice;
kiss with the tongue,
hard feelings then diminish.

We won’t mention that again.

She said she’s always fine,
the next week she died.

I have the text to prove it.

-Found her along a country roadside
with holes and blood and mud.
The Sunday newspaper said it as
a matter of fact- Just. Like. That.

We had this one class together…
-Fremdsprachen, Deutsch.

Who writes that shit anyway?
It can’t be real-

Those papers…

A life that lacks is labeled as that.
A life on track is labeled as that.

Hands tied, for gosh sakes!
Bright white lines,
Coldest milk shake,
I was on Valium so I don’t remember that day- anyway.

Then the poetry reading was over…
So was everything else-

No apprehension
No hesitation.

What’s tension?
We mention:

Now-a-days,
A lifetime away,
Full of choices
Did you hear them voices?

And you thought for a walk.
And you thought for a talk.
And you made art with chalk
that did not last so long.

-Some cloudy milk transparency.

But that was all you did,
then you slept-

after the sun had left.

***

Also, danke schön Pakistan.
Story: A patron puts one hundred-dollar bills inside of the books he returns only to promote reading.

July 8, 2014

Commuting on Como

Up,
Pedaling through
Como Avenue.

Alongside shared-living apartments
Neon-signs cluttered storefronts.

Following is
the
summer sun,
heat,
and sweat.

7 years ago I was more acquainted
There was so much to forget.

There was sun and snow,
Heartbreak and elation,
Sex and lies, good times;
Things called by other names, situations.

Past trees which grew
Broken glass from bottles drunks threw
Stand lampposts which haven’t moved
These quiet streets, home for rocks, sand, and dust- below shoes.

Maneuvering, wondering if the old neighbors were still alive.

Winter stuck in a basement
Bright light outside
Warm only within
-Hiding eyes behind dingy broken blinds.

Father stopped in around Christmastime
I was with a she who left like the wind.

Found in moments betting on the weather.

Two doves,
A cat,
Empty bottles,
Trash amassed; pieces of me mixed between.

Now I ride by this old familiar place.

Remembering,
Biking,
Thinking,

How did this town get so small?
How did I get so big?

***
She once said: biking is the best way to learn the city; Minneapolis is the biggest small town around.