Posts tagged ‘winter’

April 15, 2018

xanto canceled my fishing trip

fish sticks and mac n cheese
and my teeth feel my tongue briefly.
a whiteout outside coming in old glass,
as white piles and tie-dyed weather radar go.
we say each word has a unique sound,
each language unique words… you read.
this weather is completely fucked.
watching whatever on some pirate Netflix.
shovel again, broken back again.
no one cares about dads and dudes nowadays.
notice: AI takes us through our phones already,
kills us by attrition.
Facebook steals our data but you still update your status.
time wasted, longer weekend inside.
and they forecasted this correctly,
fishing was canceled for me.
now i eat fish sticks and bells two hearted warmly,
all are fish related.
watch those stuck in the snow miming curses,
pushing cars thinking don’t spin
your tires that makes ice.
once was water where i would catch fish.

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February 13, 2018

un-stir-crazy

layering is my relevant exercise
in wintertime around these parts,
try to stay un-stir-crazy.

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.

January 6, 2018

after climate change

i will tell you about the cold with frozen fingers,
draw you some greasy shapes on glass so you can’t miss.
i will tell you about the heat when the bill’s delivered,
asking you when the climate change is about to begin.

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.

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 1, 2017

… as the snow flies

i am good right here…
entranced by November snows
in gray hues, just outside,
changing my mind’s moments
like daylight savings.
each flake fat,
each ascent confused,
to wetted ground’s pools below.
good right here, right now–I. I…
waiting, watching through a film of plastic
and time and clime and ah… OK.
spastic motions, prison of chairs.
legs get stiff, what are feet for, again?
biding my time patient, that snow out there.
it’s coming down liberated and seasoned.
Reflecting somewhat jealous.
at some point i have to leave.

February 25, 2017

you go!

tear the plastic
off
the windows
to your life!

January 3, 2017

free as i freeze (habit and time)

wake up to routine,
OK Google, play morning jazz.
watch people kiss at the
drop off spot.
it’s cold, there is ice–messages, go outside…
tie shoes and salt the walk.
change diapees of all sorts.
my son makes more art
than the lot in the books
than the lot on the poster
than the lot at the press
than me, and yes, i wrote that
and it’s exclusive to your publication
and i won’t send it
to anyone else, i promise.
no more surprises.
she asks me why i don’t wear
a jacket in 9 degree weather
to fill up the gas tank
so the fuel line doesn’t freeze overnight,
i don’t want to be restricted.
i want to not be cramped.
i just want to make ends meet
even if they have no interest
in meeting and becoming friends
and they just try to avoid
that moment, which i have set out so boldly
to make a reality, on my account.
wake up to routine,
OK Google, bring me a beer.
and deconstruct structure–
wood, screws, metal, shelves, etc.
they tell me i look nice in a blazer.
into packs cramped.
trying to be more free as i freeze
if you would just let me,
it only takes habit and a moment.

December 8, 2016

bundle up

ere the cold wind
hardened person debacle,
post-repast,
i become less like
those who represent me
and more like myself,
still running from its presence.
we are found, as errant snow
in misplaced cracks
along the street–
never should have been there.
swirling excitedly
at the bus stop proper
under pink and sable skies,
this industry: dying trees, real waits,
away from it all,
lights out in the house,
purely darkened for late payments.
a book stands in my side pocket,
slick along the turns,
a clear door opens, “Hello, sir.”
and then the same door closes again
to shield me from it.
ere the cold wind, just as
it touches me whole.