Posts tagged ‘minnesota’

August 16, 2016

what i know.

what i know
about life
is that people
only want
change if
they create it
themselves;
likewise
with poetry,
people only want
words, art, ideas,
-poetry
if they create
it themselves.
i would
cite the editors,
the talking heads,
the publications,
the reviewers,
and their
best of friends
in foggy dawn
on a
hot summer’s day,
i would
but i didn’t
create them.
and that is why they
read
only the best.
ssshhhhhhhhhh…

July 25, 2016

chocolate milk

in elementary school
i used to violently shake
chocolate milk cartons
until they were mixed
sweet as milk shakes.

i learned something
important here:
if you don’t like
what you get, stir things up
a bit to your liking.

i still do this activity
on occasion today,
shake, stir, twist–
just not with milk cartons,
tho i still muck with taste.

July 16, 2016

turn at whole foods muse

a saturday morning commute,
when i see high performance
dick measurements
dancing across deep potholes
in our weekend downtown,
i realize that maybe my feet
say more on a quick walk
in broken-open slip-ons
than my hands do on virgin leather,
and that’s was my judgement,
and at a cracked bus stop
some authentic wait lonesome
for jesus christ and good luck
surrounded by windows mirrored,
exhaustion and new day;
who wears the pants and such anyway?
i think all this betwixt coffee sips
driving along the way,
i take it in over “ordinary world”
and think of Scorsese death
while our wet ball spins
(do i need a car wash to appeal?)
and his Porsche turns before me;
the shine blinds, maybe size small.

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 24, 2016

purposeful watch

i found
time
on a clock
passing
hands moving
2-d never
the same

i found
life
in a forest
growing
buzzing going
3-d always
to change

finding
leavings
entities
conceiving

June 21, 2016

dripping

ways like sleep in morning eyes
useless navigating kitchen

sweet as thick spooned honey raw
soft tongue to sharp tastes

June 17, 2016

witness

Seeing your actions
far surpasses
any good intentions
crossed out
that your pursed
moving lips
could ever exclaim.

June 5, 2016

the paper boy is dead

On a hunch I sauntered slowly
into fresh borne south of
this driftless region driveway
thinking of a town so small
and so brilliant with newness
that dove’s coos came warmer,
more complex and calming
in cascaded light,
sparrows tangoed along eaves,
nests bulged with twigs above a door—
turning back, I’d see every bump
on simple alien surface streets,
no moving cars, no people, just…
the newspaper there, on time.
7 years as never seen before,
mixed emotions at the thought:
could the paper boy have forgot,
to the end of the cement I went,
where straight lines and nature’s debris,
where I saluted hand over
brow to shield from a blindingness,
so practiced and so readied
the veteran orb could retire happy,
here street signs and crab trees sighed,
and we’d all freeze to death just
below shouldered green hills advancing
with leathered leaves flapping
sans our wrapped Sunday Tribune,
or the will to go anywhere else.

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 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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