Posts tagged ‘Safety’

March 6, 2018

03/06/2018 snow removal for the corner lot and the ideology that comes with better my community for my community through action

woke to
delayed buses
old tweets
hopefully not-cancelled daycare
strong coffee
necessary boots
thoughts of snapping
heavy fucking parka
and a pre-broken back
to shovel us out.
that’s my life.
no choice really.
checking my something…
the weather up here,
and we think we can change it.
probably we don’t.
it changes us.
in so many ways:
my skin is pocked
eyes are dry and red
throat sore, pain in head,
even when cleared.
tell me who owns who
and i’ll show you your facebook updates
and i’ll show you to donate to your cause
and follow that money, former and latter.
people do good and bad things.
surely, those ideas are paid for.
these are cost free!
why do you wake and stay woke?
there is shoveling to be done just there.
i have to go outside
and deal so no one trips
and falls and
sues. no one trips at this residence
and falls and sues on salted ice.
i disagree with MPR on the matter.
they don’t salt my walk.
i don’t salt theirs.
that works out for both of us.
the cameras will tell of the driven snows and blocked streets
and they talk of fairness.
blizzard winds, clear my sidewalk
so i don’t have to. diapers to change.
English language to teach in foreign lands from my basement.
that sounds fair to me.
go out and get lost in it, i will.
go out and another round at this love.

February 26, 2015

Bakken through Minneapolis

Night black as Bakken
oil, which malignly pours past silent

shipped in cryptic-marked tanker cars
under cover of darkness, rightly
so, they move obtusely opaque—

opposite downtown lights which stick to a wetted haze
in the distance, making this Midwest city glow
for miles—some say 150 of them away.

The shit we’ve seen, and haven’t.

That which creeps along can be found in a jet, in
a car, or on foot,

in hardened
rock snow-crust, cold as a
flushed-toilet shower’s mist—you know; everything
is connected, retraced, unplugged,
tubed, tied, aborted,
and rewind.

Truths for lies:
This is safe,
This is fact,
This in fact is safe,
We care about you.

It is snug-up, or snug-down, or
just snug enough, or caught in between comfortable,
and I can’t go outside,
I have to decide.

Then it is: A pub visit, a flipped
switch, a lit door in the distance—these
palm trees have become foreigners
in desert sands which have turned to mud
by native rain power in your very living room
by way of: your very hand;

the vessel you hold,
repurposed from some ornate
decoration, from some ornate
description, from so-and-so’s ornate party,
or from some ornate magazine—ornate parts
of these

-Cult clubs.

And that is life:
black as night as petro ships by, as exhaust fumes fly,
as exhausted you sleeps, you snore, you don’t think;
as an “elected” official’s bank account goes cha-ching,
as a CEO draws outside of the lines, and talks energy.

(of course we need)

as the air goes in and out
of his mouth,
and in and out,
and in and out—

Like fucking, really.
Hey, you thought it. 🙂

Humans without a care,
they are there happily unawares.

With smiles on their dreaming faces,
as that napalm tube rolls on steel wheels in their backyards.

February 6, 2013

Big-Small City Blues (Minneapolis Frigid)

You can find us foraging on the harshest of days.

To a Jet-Setter’s dismay, we amaze.


:  Daily occurrence


Layered like onion with attire and attitude.

Acting rude to those cordial tourists who seem to just pass through.


Seeking truth, priority of enormous proportions, propensity.


You can find us biking in any weather; seen worse, seen better.

Times like today, think about bringing an extra sweater.


(Some sit and lay.)


Maybe a shovel if your neighbor’s in trouble.

Finding a sidewalk with a walkable pathway, can be a puzzle.

Thinking outside of the bubble; we are not all shut-ins.


The hardiest travel gear gets soaking wet, dried, and molded.

The 18 will honk if you miss the starting gun on a green light, Metro Transit states symbolically: you’ve been scolded.

Such plight!


I remember a few months back, 120 degree heat index seemed funny.


I remember a few days back, negative 30 and sunny.



Seen sight; the visibility is impossible tonight.

I might be late.

You might feel the wind-chill’s bite.


I can’t see myself on my bike, can you?

Sit in and look at words again.


Refreshed by a novel movie and touching flesh, nostalgia we all forget.

Under all that puff.


Happenings; futures, pasts, present, time we’ve spent dwelling in resentment on the climate.

This doesn’t happen outside.


Look at the skies; there is always something to complain about.


Trapped inside; a cupboard small-life-style-apartment-renting-type-typical logic.

In the sun we used to frolic.


Snow builds up at the door, but when it snows the temperatures soar, or at least we think so.

A cool breeze pushes at the window.


Humming and buzzing of snowplows and traffic wake me from my slumber.

Trapped under multiple layers of blankets and a duvet cover.


In between Christmas and Valentine’s Day I am at a constant funeral:

The air is noticeably staler on the interior, seeing those more closely in tight quarters.  Emotions become more pronounced.  All judgement is irrelevant.  The reality of the situation becomes clear; one of us has to disappear in the whiteout, the others must stay.  Yet, eyes remain sunken as longer become the sun-rays.  

Counting days; contorted, frayed, frazzled, and astray.


We traverse the busiest roads; dangerous travel to make minimal loot.

Tie the boot.

Spoon the soup.


Look out on to the street-slop on your feet.


Something’s amiss, a chain slip, a tire flat, shoot!

Gloveless hands on handle bars, the thought seems aloof.

Vitamin C for juice.


Sit rigid in your chair-1,000 yard stare.


What’s in it, what’s given?

Proof that we enjoy the region.  Proof that we enjoy the seasons.

Gaining insight from book shelves; persistent, driven, emboldening self.


Commonplace; we all complain, but when we do naught but talk of change we remain the same.

The same.

The same.


Disgruntled and contented; seeming like an oxymoron.

Suggestions simply get a passive aggressive response, and move on, stay where you belong.

Or moan and move on.

Moan and move on.



No, not me.

And no other soul in this big-small city.


We stay for another day, Minneapolis is full of play and easy ways, except for today…