Posts tagged ‘Wake’

July 30, 2017

cheap breakfast (over a hot stove in quiet peace frogtown usa, why for fruit and eggs and butter and spice and time and memory)

my morning of foreign language speak spoke
wrapped with a stale beer-feel haze
and cut fruit–tomato, bad reviews, and 2 fried eggs
and contrived paddlewheels
at St Paul later; i am meeting to mend broken pinion gears
for inconsequential yard work
and forget the past
which does not affect us,
so remember not to forget.
with fork turned knife, i cut the
fragile membrane and watched it ooze and
sluice yellow the barebones plate: perfect presentation,
where is Gordon Ramsey when you need him? fuck.
if only for toast–
but they say processed carbs are so bad
with guesswork lexicons,
and so is not just agreeing with…
but dont talk those politics out loud in public,
they could hurt your morning stomach,
could hurt your local pride,
could hurt you like if you were that red fruit right there
unresponsive, go letting out,
about to be devoured by something much bigger
than you could ever truly imagine
and only for cheap breakfast
next to lowly coffee more precious.

June 26, 2017

wake

A cool pale morning,
Birds chirping their song.
A day to be taken whole,
I, hitting snooze again.

July 10, 2015

Do We Ever Actually Sleep?

Entering new worlds to escape another
I woke up from a dream in a lonely bed.
Real life sat next to it on the nightstand,
in the early stretches, in “slept like a rock”
preparation for what’s to come. Today
was like any other, though different—shall
we double: it is shit and it is great. I would
cite Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, but
they are dead. I would cite Anton Chigurh,
but he is nowhere to be found. “They are.
It is.” Those statements defining the
day, the morning, the thrown pillows, drool
stained, and crumpled blankets with their cat
hair, are your shell, your cocoon exited.
They rest there, waiting for another moment
to bring adventure, where you fall into the
fold and escape this life to REM, to where
monsters and mistresses await, where gold
and garbage stay; past loved ones welcoming
you in boats, and in jest. That to this, this
to that. Don’t become unwrapped for awoken
reality hits full on hard. There fellow man
meets to never actually meet. We relate,
but never truly. Reaching for the water on
the dusty dresser top, cat at my feet, shades
drawn, another day to walk to the kitchen,
open the fridge, to make breakfast, marks
and tracks, to make me. I enter this world
from another. I wonder, do we ever actually
sleep? And then I wake from this dream.

July 3, 2015

new july

such sounds were reserved, ones that would wake you.
laying there in the morning, full day ahead. touching snooze

to gather more sleep, to gather better dreams. a door opens
and a dog begs for attention. little things like the early light,

the sound of soft feet on hardwood, a car coming, then escaping.
such sounds were reserved for you. wake to unfamiliar familiar.

same as always, touch a button. the coffee maker bubbles,
crickets still sing, birds chirping aloud, coming through

a cracked window in a dim room with the shades drawn.
sounds of a day that were reserved, open morning new july.

April 25, 2015

wake up.

I had
only
to
wake up
to see
the
beautiful
day.

June 26, 2014

The Great Human Specimen

(Words of which describe feeling; the impossible to relate.)

Thoughts we couldn’t possibly know
Interpreting best we can
Relating as we move in growth
From anger to love; make amends

Constant ebb and flow
She says it gets worse over time
Freeing and easing as we go
Futile attempts at relieving the mind

Struggling to care for one-self
Bettering to make it through
The toughest part of life
Is missing those we knew

Forgetting each moment one by one
Filling them with something new
A child once, now a man
Living only to pay our dues

We are the great human specimen; half of one life and half of another.
Our eyes, our ears, our smiles, our fears, come from our father and mother.

April 14, 2014

wie zum sterben

Monologue of Lovers;
One contends never to exist, as is necessity of endearing Conversationalists.
Words castes, molds, and shows what’s to discover of each other.

Touch of the Shut-in,
Cold frost thoughts mingled, with those of a summer’s mist.
Running through to grounds around, hark to those akin.

Designed to hold Time,
A clock’s arms link-locked tight tense to tick.
Shoe gazers watch cracks to find prized dimes in the mix.

Disintegrating at pure elegance,
She dances early day just to pull on a dress and necklace.
Proper smile outlined deep red to impress, enacting her relevance.

Lack of audacious Antidote,
A self-wound wrapped bound left to forget.
Layers that bond only to be pulled in two; torn, and then reset.

Absolutist human likely assumed close to the rest;
Comprised of simple puzzles, a simple life -of to think and act- while we stand in ‘present-tense’.

-Until our bell’s been rung for eternal rest.

And at that day,

In so many ways

Others will speak with passionate pride and distraught sentiment.

But we won’t.

 

***

The voice decays into oblivion with the body.  

August 7, 2013

American Peanut Butter Toast

“Maybe some peanut butter…

Or other stuff if there isn’t enough.”

 

I confusedly spoke standing center kitchen.

The yellow drop-leaf table listened.

 

Likewise, she stood as if she had sort of missed something.

Almost leaning, almost touching stacked upright drying dishes.

 

The Leopold Stickley held ground on four legs, glistening under energy-efficient bulbs, acting convenient witness.

Not speaking by fault.  Wanting not to pick scabs, or pull out prematurely healed stitches.

 

I stood on two legs in my boxers looking for a sitting contraption.

She stood the same as I, watching, waiting for a different reaction.

We all exuded patience-I, my companion, and the inanimate furnishings in our location.

 

Morning time.  Glory be mine.  We are all fine.

These are just different situations.

 

We really are.

All Americana and cohabitation,

And then we were off to work.