Posts tagged ‘Lit’

April 15, 2018

xanto canceled my fishing trip

fish sticks and mac n cheese
and my teeth feel my tongue briefly.
a whiteout outside coming in old glass,
as white piles and tie-dyed weather radar go.
we say each word has a unique sound,
each language unique words… you read.
this weather is completely fucked.
watching whatever on some pirate Netflix.
shovel again, broken back again.
no one cares about dads and dudes nowadays.
notice: AI takes us through our phones already,
kills us by attrition.
Facebook steals our data but you still update your status.
time wasted, longer weekend inside.
and they forecasted this correctly,
fishing was canceled for me.
now i eat fish sticks and bells two hearted warmly,
all are fish related.
watch those stuck in the snow miming curses,
pushing cars thinking don’t spin
your tires that makes ice.
once was water where i would catch fish.

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March 29, 2016

beat of sound – day break sight

here a morning room
lack of light–
no present moon,
and the trash
man backs in & dumps
our leavings to
the sound of jazz
some bump -kerplunk-
from a warm wooden
floor, the leftovers
we had scouered
from the early night
before, and sure it
is beautiful, and
this now waking up
time is just mine.
all inside and
the just outside…
sound in my ears,
sight in my eyes.

March 14, 2016

untitled 59

Skyscrapers and spires in the cool of night,
downtown & away, in the darkened light.
And we do what it is to make such sight burn,
we open eyes on what makes the soul yearn.

March 6, 2016

i took Sunday full

O’ fatty bacon ends
and dirty dishes, and
sunlight on the
blue kitchen floor.

here we talk aloud
about running the
nation as if it’s
even a possibility.

i like the way flesh
smells in the air,
when the cast iron
is heating its oils.

outside a bell chimes
in soft March winds,
the sound: my relatives,
the sound sustains.

it was eaten all up
the while, the same.
it was good, and
i took Sunday full.

and i would write
about real, jokingly.

and i would listen
to podcasts, hopefully.

February 23, 2016

I don’t usually take the bus home, but when I do…

Dim lights fading
as dim feeling,
somewhere,
I am Northeast,
viewing dark
clothed bus seats.
Somewhere wet,
floors and smells.
Hello book,
hello patience,
hello fading sunrays,
hello girl on a bike,
now, inside I wait.
Now, you go,
as I do likewise too.
Hello to hear
a sharp beep
in a moving bus
ringing through.
To get groceries,
to give no fucks,
in spoiled dusk.
How dim it is—it was,
Hanging like this:
And the veiled gone sun
as though I am too,
not here but,
still purgatory…
still full of layered blues,
and hollowed cold,
and late afternoon mist.
Going home, to
just check off lists,
going home I sit.

January 14, 2016

You Didn’t Win Either? (unluckysucker)

Everyone in Minnesota
did not win the Powerball
jackpot last night…

So—Today we can all bask in
the cold-light glory
that no one near us
is better off than the rest of us__probably.

We can now all
relish in this thought,
and be our special way of nice
over such a cutting idea.

As it were, broke, sad me, holding
a job with frozen fingers—
not throwing Benjamins on
a naked golden yacht (no fun & sun).

As it were, us crying together
at the blackening void of
our faithful fantasies vanished,
as summer beach scenes
and graduates of Coffman Union
around long winter breaks.

Cry sad local gambler, cry hard with me.
You didn’t win either, ha!

December 20, 2015

new sunday (amassing life)

the objective thermostat here
is hard butter on a dirty
busy kitchen countertop.
other contraptions don’t work.
i am front page, B & C,
and Columbia Heights business.
they want coffee shops for
auto care, they want a place
to find what they need.
they, they, they, but who?
this is sunday with my nose
in a creased Star Tribune.
i am at home with Jazz 88(.5),
with the smell of burnt sourdough.
that which surrounds creates.
sounding the packaging from
yesterday’s christmas market parade;
that was money well spent.
coffee travels with it in aromas and
heat to our morning stomachs.
empty then, now made stuffed full.
just two grown up children
at a register, talking about getting
quarters for laundry, where baristas
broke food & beverage codes,
and what goes on later that day was told.
i don’t want to get sick, i just want.
i love the short weekends for
what they are, for what our
society allots a persona like me. i can
afford this for just five days of paid toil
out of the lengthy work week, and
i think, it might be worth the wait.
new sunday measuring the warmth,
running in the cold; we are finding two
for five for a 40 hour amassing life.
and that is how exactly i am i.

December 3, 2015

The World Inside

i have just fogged up
the dirty mirrors
on my bathroom
mother, with a
view of putting
my eyeballs
arduously in, as
the cat lapped at
a curtain, a horn blew
in the metro distance,
as she stirred in
her layered bed, natural,
non-sound; where the
just is just was
there to take.
all day long for this
preparation, rebirth
from here on out,
then out into it all.
i am a reflection had,
i was blind then visible.
awoken to resemble a cog
from dreams of the nod.
cleansed this simple,
inside world so nimble.
i was just there
in an adjusted stare.
and this mirror fogged up.

November 30, 2015

Simple Satisfaction

Once I thought I would try something new.
It garnered no notice and nothing happened.
I felt good because I was doing what I loved.
It didn’t matter about recognition in the end.

November 28, 2015

If Wishes Didn’t Exist

I wish so much that I could change it,
just as much as everyone else.
The way you want something
and you really can’t have it.
Like to be independently wealthy,
or have the perfect dream job.
Only because in impossible ways
these entities don’t exist.
That sort of fading obsession
eventually becomes you—you are it.

In the morning from a deep sleep
the thought travels lifetimes
between two eyes, bounds up over
synapse, carries to perspire.
It is in you. And although it is there,
the momentary chill of outside air
seeing a banded local paper folded,
resting, stirs shivers, takes you away.

Some aspects are unavoidable,
some are just there to be taken.
Here is the La Crosse Tribune and
its pointed, objective, new words.
Picking up the rag, I head back inside.
I pull the band loose with fingers
and go at the emboldened headlines.
Thinking: how useless is a wish?
Thinking: it doesn’t really matter.