Posts tagged ‘Literature’

July 22, 2016

encouragement

i duly note that dashed dreams
and commonplace tragedies
are not exclusive to any party
in particular whatsoever;
though after, it’s about picking
oneself up, though after, it’s
about how you crawl from
your imminently destined grave.

you,
so…

July 3, 2016

Commuter Theatre

Sitting, eyeing, on the green line east
at pull of rubber band force
from automatic closed doors,
this way going fast to St. Paul,
reading pulp & fodder & reviews–
rain taxi on such a fine day, muse,
truth as the second coming, we assume,
alone as this newborn child is,
before our welcome birthing days…
And these bells only go buzz
their purposeful bing accord,
and the hipsters trend all over
Twitter and Facebook storyboards,
and I read “Dessa”: as one name,
I am not too big to make real art,
hard looks and fresh lemon bitter.
I am here between twin cities
futzing with the magazine innards
tonguing sore mouth blisters
trying to find a schedule to go on mr…
Stories of contrast black and white
waiting on bleak blue dinged seats
and this line rolls along green,
in pale hot bright summer sun seen,
malaise in my stomach sits–pits,
Snelling, Hamlin, and Lexington,
sour as such sordid sentiment,
I bike to some new on old hopes
to pay cash for a tin roof owned,
I hope it’s not too far, still sitting,
still watching, waiting, thinking:
Do people really think they are fooling
anyone waiting at the scanner’s
edge to run up on the station
without paying the correct fare?
O, bad actors must have just forgot,
the commuter theatre is free today.

June 18, 2016

no. 7 at 14/61 and the future

Between violet sepia bluffs
Cars played lines
A haze grew thick—hot
Orange cones dictated
The fast up and down
Of empty traffic

Cemeteries waved at Dresbach
Sandy islands slipped away
A great dam held its ground
Where days felt longer
And time gave MN goodbyes

Polaris and the waxen moon
Lush grass and free truth
Spread out Abnet field
Voided streets, no yield
Completely consumed

Cigarette smoke rolled
In icy air conditioning
Talks, barstools pushed away
Rum doubles and a door
Familiar face accord

Hands gripped the wheel
Assail easy premonition
A new floor coming in
And I am sure there was
god and love and open skies

All around me the speed limit
All around me cut out hills old

May 28, 2016

mill city farmer’s market

all the dogs, kids, babies wrapped, framed glasses, young and old, unpotted plants, jarred goods, dark corners–green, passing glances, new movie–new drama, new play: this life; capitalism, theatre, chefs on wheels, circus donuts, french cuisine croissants, organic, ham & cheese, natural, unconventional, cemented, photographed, painted, produced product soon to be purchased, some with cameras capture, stacked red brick, grey antiquated silos, expensive strollers, progressive shoes, obvious fashion–uptown, trending, voluptuous crimson flowers in jetblack stands wet under overcast and old industry, windowpane mirrors to their looking-glass self, vain vanity, standing, walking, waiting, exchanging money–dirty dinged, marketing to the reader–know what they like, showing, seeing, watching, staring, a part of it apart, breaking up lines, holding bags, spoken in broken inquiry and trailing text, cellphones attracting, selfies, a standard saturday morning, portrait untrained, looking for the next big thing next to the mighty mississippi, lovers holding hands: small parade, saying that is “interesting” and that is “funny” all in one rolled up ball, the life passing the torch in the center of mill city; here neighborhoods and neighbors converge just doing their weekend thing while others do their weekend thing this weekend at this bizarre bizaar of the farmer’s market crowd locally famous feigning outdoorsyness, notice my attention, epicenter aloof, just walking around individual circumstance, something for profit with a non-profit feel, feeling good but not doing good, and how others have planned their situations at the moment going by mine going by theirs going by. and gone.

May 24, 2016

From Lake Elmo Sunday Evening

what full moon fulfillment
on a waxen radiant light
our paths came guided open
in shadows of the night

May 23, 2016

Cedar South Beach

while sitting on a blue-striped towel
i hear a local worldview of sorts,
some older lady repeats something
about a virtual tour–the architecture (!),
two millennials smoking cigarettes profess
how they “fucking hate trump”
because truth tells them to do so,
and a wife on her bluetooth in leopard print
shows the entire beach it’s a seller’s market
with her well-trained theatre hands
(if you are looking to buy a house in the city)
in uppity one-sided rhetorical fashion,
i of course do not question their character:
i am at the beach looking for heat,
assessing the chill of lake water
as i am nonplussedy people watching.
my study of the local fare has me thinking
Hidden Beach may have fewer occupants,
and that someone must be mistaken
on the location of Art-A-Whirl or
i might need to find a new place to swim.

May 16, 2016

border waters

coffee muck
below
where the
rocks
at surface
caught wake
and
came sharp;

lines down
undulating
bringing
depths to rise
bringing
the mystery
from to

we bobbed
at border waters

up and down

May 13, 2016

15 minutes or less

i see desperation in this fable:
they want to be so badly noticed
for situations and placement
of mainstream sordid pasts;
not unlike the light rail horns
at stray pedestrians midst tracks,
headphones in–blaring, at Huron’s bend.
and we pray they see it coming,
the rumble, the sharp metal–over…
and we don’t decipher to which god,
make believe for a lifestyles–
(why tell them any different?)
someone or something has to stop it,
at the corner of life and death, trivial
and just about noticed for nothing
there are people watching content.

May 12, 2016

products

as butterflies
from caterpillars
warm air to storms
we too produce
from the consumed
sapporo & sushi &
cigarettes &
breath what
would come out
as new energy again
appearing
entirely different
a production of us
now take to the air

May 8, 2016

ash

there are certain times
evening embers
look so nice dying in
dusted fire rings

wanting to jump in
myself i think of
self immolation
& sometimes meaning
but there they glow
anyway

certain times are
soon to be ash

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