Posts tagged ‘prose’

April 21, 2018

(welcome to minnesota) how to talk about what is important

while many are out
protesting gun violence
and the moronic, petulant
politicians
that they hate for their hatred (irony),
transit workers are being
beaten in the streets to silence,
Minnesota families are being taxed
beyond belief to silence,
and social media is acting big brother to silence.
i am not sure that we all hear.
but you don’t
care, and you are there.
go fund me about it.
go start some new petition.
go join a herd of same.
i have too truly.
it is my true duty.

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April 4, 2018

shells of us

judging a book’s cover, imagine my face imaging.
infinite sides to a story, to a story’s story, but i know.
my flesh tells a tale, probably, as yours does too.
drawn in the blood of i forget them, never met, who cares i guess.
Passover at Easter, some pink ham in me again, belching.
nothing like anything. nothing like i just exist.
broken short nails, overgrown cuticles and shining bald spots.
adult acne keeps me younger than you might think i am.
alphabet soup of words keeps me sane.
reflections of thin air, in thin air scares, wisps.
clowns were in that movie of course, dark rooms, found footage.
still, i see apostles for anything relevant: novel sorts.
new, spring, green, now, on top of the every-thing, any-thing that is
trending hashtag section of their Twitter feeds.
until tomorrow’s Godzilla prowls painting a new-thing to hate,
until the next big no-thing, the next day.
then you do what they say, like clockwork spinning good, wait.
and you want to be different, unique.
then you tell them how much you can relate.
i guess they covered this on the cover. forget this poem.

March 9, 2018

north woods and north shore

i’d like to escape
north woods, northshore
past Duluth, past the ships,
the mini sea
comes into view, comes to mind.
all past-life in the rearview.
empty agendas found blank,
just wake lapping at the shores
where red rocks are shone.
through arched tunnels, further,
Two Harbors, Castle Danger.
a million years in a minute gone by.
how did it happen?
i’d like to escape like lava from crust
to create this Superior lake,
this setting. read it in books as a kid.
the Edmund Fitzgerald and 28.5 barometric pressure.
time’s i can’t take city’s measure.
but these thoughts save me mostly.
nothing but canary lines on the highway: open road.
would go to Lutsen, dad would, drink Hot 100 in a Jacuzzi.
he’s gone too. long gone.
would show the earth’s curve to
flat-earthers to prove them,
as we ate Betty’s pies, or famous pizza,
all the way to Grand Marais.
i don’t know. maybe go
along the snaking Gunflint Trail
to where the road ends, way up there, and
think about finding that square rock
which came into view like some ancient monster on
Lake Sag, i don’t know. Ghosts bobbing in white caps.
still looms in my head when i think
about catching bass or time to put my feet up,
or about my father and what he
would be doing now. i’d escape.
i’d find it. and why not?

January 13, 2018

Fact: in Minnesota, the bus is always late in the cold, and later the colder it is…

i was telling the ladies at daycare
about how the bus
always comes 20 minutes late
when it is cold out.
like now, it comes half-an-hour later, guaranteed;
when it perfect out the bus comes on time…
the colder it is out
the later the bus arrives.
and this isn’t a joke this is real, scientific method real, tested.
this is an actual fact.
they asked so i told them, i love our talks.
he made it, great, goodbye.
but the truth is
one would figure these waits would get better
now that the Superbowl is coming to town.
but i guess not. not for the peasants.
us in servitude, making it to work and back
not having the magic platinum tickets, not insiders.
have to wait on ice packed glaciers between snow drifts.
global cooling is giving me frostbite and making me bitter.
across from the Goodwill at Fairview, near
some abandoned shopping cart excursion,
son in stroller, meth-addict twitching, calling
the Google schedule bullshit, smoking a cig.
don’t these things come every 20 minutes or so…,
give me a break–i mean seriously,
i don’t need this in my life,
no not when it’s negative 20.
then it floats up when you are moments from death, asking god.
this is, even while being secular and skeptical.
i think of summitting Everest and wait longer.
you know i probably could with this training.
though the oxygen tanks and Sherpa, i need them now.

December 27, 2017

This old year soon over and again cold, remember

Cold so much so,
Winter solstice largesse.
Friends of the warmth.
We used to bike for travel.
Transfered the honor.
Now we wrap windows in plastic,
Now we pay medical bills.
Now we think, shit i feel bad
For those who feel bad, shit. Me?
Your credit card and god can fix that.
It’s cold outside again.
Probably protest winter’s oppression,
I think it will work: look at…
Frosted windows, we winnow.
Crystal mushroom threshold doors.
Some global warming vortex theory.
I think it gets cold on its own.
But it’s cold so much so, i know.
Next time I’ll remember better.

December 24, 2017

the ultimate distraction that nobody mentions, too busy with everything else (millennial debt)

I am ready
for the #consumerism this year to end,
my dragon to slay.
This money, that money, where? donate!
Ready to be more #frugal,
like peanut butter sandwiches
continuing every day until I am #debtfree.
I wonder if goals even exist.
I think more people should #protest that,
protest debt by ending it: mine, theirs, et al.
Instead outside blaming, pointing, aging, etc.
Do that, I suppose. Or don’t.
Sort of some responsibility.
Then worry about everything else.
Because you are owned by your debt,
but you don’t really care until you know.
That plastic, that is you.
The banks that you fund.
They are all in the shadows laughing, watching, pointing you on.

November 28, 2017

iPresence

MN: land of infinite dusk,
this time of year again, comes on strong
like Old Crow or Evan Williams or let downs.
those arguments last longer,
depthless debate, soulless embrace–stalling
the shades–undrawn, hanging,
that’s life they say,
to each their own they say,
cast their shadows like Slender Man at Eagle Bluff,
throwing shade like raw hate (on character)
and Halloween scares on 10/31: no porch lights,
no needs, no worries
just wanting… how to relax, kick back,
when our day has terminal cancer
and our moments are surely gone
and our time is on autopilot, disconnected,
all decided before us?
and for what?

go protest, iPresence.
can’t even, i see.

November 4, 2017

Labels of…

“son, father, brother, husband
White, pink, cis-male, American
Here, there, gone, lost, and guided
Born, destined, confused”, perfect

As i am today i am not tomorrow
Hang your saddened head, it is so

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October 7, 2017

saturday morning with my grandpa (how i became me)

saturday mornings could smell
like burnt eggs
and old cigars stamped out years ago,
bacon grease splatting, hiss,
dogs wet fur from the rain coming down,
a damp dusty basement clouded,
unbrushed teeth speaking true words
to loved ones about what will be done
what we might get to,
grandma and grandpa and dad and cats in La Crescent
sitting in a wallpapered kitchen, rented out now,
pantry full, cooking bean soup on the stove,
waiting for NASCAR on sunday, those tomorrows,
and god, or the lord or heavens knows, who cares?
got to get better at it, all of it,
that smell reminds me of nothing now
and the dead and chopping wood in the forest,
and how he would show up with donuts
and his dog, in leather boots, early,
before most “hard workers” today even think about
getting up because he drove semi trucks
to where i live now, just south of us,
until in his mid-seventies,
when he first met me, 70 times my age,
and i can still smell that stuff upstairs.

September 3, 2017

you cannot know ever

do go ahead, appeal to me:
be open, be thoughtful , be free.
be like the antilablists be:
no “know”, no fact, no meaning.