Posts tagged ‘Social Issues’

December 2, 2013

The Sum of Small Parts

I am the makeup of freshly dead heritage,

This only proves my merit-age.

 

Bikes for carriages; we ride through lonely skyscrapers.

 

Sitting amongst crumpled papers and beer chasers,

Getting wasted is the only word-spoken disclaimer.

 

I’ll take your money; I’m a card-player, shark, dangerous-major, and one of the remainders.

Ask about my hand at 39’ sometime.

 

Language proclaimed loud and proud, with or without, making joyous sound resound between eyes of doubt.

 

Wanting to go home, 26 year-old- little kid, on my own in the big unknown:

-Advantage of Id.

-Afraid so I hid.

-We did what we did, called the bids and pulled the lids.

 

But, that was years ago,

Found time to watch blood and flesh grow.

 

Adult now, it’s my fault now.

 

I control me, watch and see.

What I am is all I can be.

I know I can pick friends but not family…

 

I am proud of who I am,

But I can’t speak for some of (and) them.

 

Then I think, like my Ma says, “you can’t win em’ all,”

And, “it’s thirty-six on Tuesday.”

 

What did I say anyway?

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November 30, 2013

Travelers of the Hometown

With a moderate hangover we wake to unfiltered light.

A sign of the debauchery transpired last night.

 

Weather view tempts those to wander outside.

If they take time and mind to leave confines.

 

Travel,

Family,

And the Local Paper –

 

We barter borrowing the car to visit familiar strangers.

 

Beer,

Coffee,

Bowling,

And a Walk in the Books-

 

Finding matters of interest-vague yet specific,

Travelers of the Hometown, try? …

 

We didn’t even have to look.

November 27, 2013

Local Underground Writers and Publishers Challenge

Underground publishers should publish people who aren’t their best friends more often.

 

Local Lit becomes incestuous static shit.

I’m bored to fits when I realize this.

 

So much same it makes me sick.

Waste of trees; what’s in print?

 

Questions which reign legit when I pick up that paper.

Say something real, different, true, to challenge the wit with what’s writ, stranger.

 

Can we get a new point of view?

 

Stop words that just fit.

Surely fitting the appearance-redundantly, the image and lifestyle of a wordsmith.

 

Break outside the confines of critically acclaimed lines, lest stay to remain has-beens, same-same exist.

 

Because with stale and dated you won’t move thoughts with any great number of pages, tire to frustration.

 

But I suppose this won’t happen ever because what’s described is too easy.

Local Underground Scribes: Satisfied and sleazy.

I use the word “writer” loosely and freely, but never LITERALLY.

 

Wise up, we read the compromise between forced-publish and real tries.

I don’t promote my best friends work, I promote my best work-Mine.

 

Call it how I see it.

You can call me a jerk.

I count the times.

 

But what’s in words?
And who is to judge?

 

The only thing changing in Minneapolis, in relation to progressive artistry, is the number of words which lack meaning, and the amount of people who will introduce themselves as writers.

There is no deficit, we pile shit on shit.