Posts tagged ‘MN’

September 17, 2017

Homecoming

My heimstatt has hills that go wending
A mighty river that flows bending south
And people so free, you are too, and can be
A place in the past and present, now
My family buried in deep, rich soils
Trying to fight it as aged leaves in fall
But we all must change for something
I choose docile and those who understand me
Never meant to be caged or tied or told
Fish where my father did, see him
Lost in meandering wakes trailing off
Trawling as a million circles borne for clouds
Through rain and chop and histories in water
Coming back here, want to stay–longer
The cities aren’t so hard at all
But this warmth, this peace–all days
Pleasantries, i hope others cant find it too ere me
For i need space for my love and my progeny
Pull the roots of the trees for better
Head south as that river goes, tell me no
Head south to it, i am fine, no worries, just  

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September 12, 2017

pleasant cricket sounds

as beautiful
and pleasant
as cricket’s may sound,
sometimes
they sound like
a broken in car
a few blocks down,
or my alarm clock
after hitting hard
the snooze
button, … so it’s
not so beautiful
or pleasant
or a treasure to take in,
you hear me?
but sometimes.

August 31, 2017

mn shit traffic: tonight

every day this week felt as Friday,
and where do they make Texas Toast!?
all the lanes closed on the highway;
going to the game, the fair, the most.

August 27, 2017

The Beer Dabbler

under gray rain sprayed heavens
troves walked in boots and leather at the Dabbler
while leaving skinny smokers on the train
with their mountain bikes and their obsessive plans
forward to old new music and colorful tents and
pretzel necklaces and cardboard cut-outs
of Bill Murray and metal fences and Rhymesayers,
where lights up high on CHS Field, 3rd base.
they were setting the stage for warm flannel
thick beards, flowing flags, slick stickers, soft coasters,
and hips swaying and shouts and cheers, beers!
and laughs–the whole crowd, at broken glass cacophony.
we took it in in gulps and sups and breaths.
saw alcohol abused rounding the bases,
as a doppelganger and DIPA waiting in the wings,
Greenway from North Dakota, Rhombus Brewery.
and artisan everything beer from whiskey casks,
told them it must be the water that makes it good.
pine wood smelled of fresh hops
and more lights, don’t water my glass sternly;
im a postmodernist who enjoy labels: i like to
reflect my makeup like rings in a tree
keep going onto one another, like language,
all the way to the bathrooms and fireworks,
attendees hiding the buns at the center of
the table in VIP–VIP doesnt get dessert.
some sort of Seinfeld joke played out here.
the beer was dessert, free t-shirt, free glass, etc.
people laughing, wedding rings, pictures
text messages, cars coming head-on
from Union Depot. more selfies. a poet ponders
walks and writes, drinks listens to a man
driving Uber perhaps tell of everyone else
using excuses, good words, especially for what
we look like–he said, in their image: gods. i watched the traffic.
i get it, like i didnt try to get here very hard…
wet rain shell, spaghetti, wife and son.
Kelly’s is like a bar in my hometown.
more of a sore throat, thank god i dont smoke.
such and such, have to go back for baseball.
such and such, good free beer, tastes like i forgot…

August 19, 2017

hey, relax!

doing nothing is my god
watching the barometer’s metal bend
chasing words on a page
some milk goes sour
in time for the weather to come contradictive itself,
taste the notes of the coffee
some cheap shite, trash, yum, reflect…
my ecology is paycheck-to-paycheck, not endemic.
presuppose your days and ways,
the window fogs and steams, smeared.
shower tiles beads dew uncountable, attrition, music.
doing nothing is my god, our god, friend:
i worship, i love, and i don’t.
shoot the gap, you have the weekend!
i tell you secular and say “bless you” at a sneeze, really? 😉
but work and leisure, two things;
what is the difference, don’t expound…
like those in a poetry workshop or modern English course,
i say nothing, do nothing, my god…
and of the apathetic sort.
Waiting for God-ot, nothing to do at all.
probably you haven’t read… because you don’t.
just like everyone else with the same ideas;
having the same idea is not diverse or unique.
what is god? she or he or preferred pronoun
is doing nothing too, a lot of it,
and getting praise worthy credit as well, dammit.
so, i’ll be here with my feet up high, relax.
you can worry about it for me.
i ain’t got much time, then pine box.

August 11, 2017

What a deal/Minnehaha West 

The shouts of abuse

Heavy weed smoke

Wet walking steps

Dog’s bark & police sirens

Piqued me from

My book of the Essex

Here I go and stir 

August 1, 2017

watchman moon

Times I wait at home under
orange moon skies, waiting
waiting waiting. for you. 

July 23, 2017

if monsters could leave the city

oh tru morning between aging cof
fee and covfefe and chuck dick,
one resignation away from a full deck,
and the meeting the Washington press
people who are good actors–
i mean really fucking good actors,
for saying things like fair and
balanced like a fat thumb on
the honest scale but it doesnt matter.
not like the gamma rays cutting,
not like a baby bouncing new teeth
through the clouds haloing above
the old trees and cut grass: lawn boy:
a broken pinion and the late sunday paper.
more gas on the ground than in it,
more save the world than wtf? locally
heard a domestic disturbance yesterday,
saw someone stealing a mainstreet car.
i suppose if i dont shave
the people who i teach in China wont care
probably wont notice beyond my American smile…
coffee again, father john misty again;
i like the art on the vinyl.
car parked in our odd garage.
monday take out our hot garbage.
so many movements to make,
only got to make movements.
i want to take the time to watch the snake
eat itself slowly as they say bye bye Betsy–
to hear her say she wont have it,
and i think what does
she think of party-made monster,
probably should get through Frankenstein,
probably should hideout somewhere.
or like a scapegoat leave the country.
if monsters could leave the city.

July 16, 2017

compost in st paul

new life out of old growth
rinds and skins in the compost
tomatoes potatoes and avocados
new plant grows out to the sun

July 15, 2017

the black hole of the nextdoor app where they tell stories on social media and everyone really cares

someone on the nextdoor app
had a bad encounter with authority and expounded,
like that has never happened before…
we both live in St Paul, near Falcon Heights…
like anyone cares IRL…