Filched every best part of art,
of everything.
Singing in the rain
as if a poignant destiny.
Blessings of death
and the mounting of enemies,
over the stone arch bridge
on two rims,
bubbles and scum,
Mississippi muddy brown waters below.
Then we eat, sleep, drink, and move on.
Tattoos and body piercings
Ostentatious Restaurants.
Underground Hip-Hop
and Poetry- the life, so long…
A million extras with a million extra lines; you see the conundrum.
Oh, the Cheeky Bastard.
A problem with me,
probably-
Attitude,
something rude.
Perhaps.
Transcendentalists and progressives, pass aggressive.
Just listen to those intellectuals. (How Special)
Bowel movements
have caused more pain
with more tact and significance,
more movement,
and,
yet, who knows the difference?
Faces are wearing half-hearted pleas of forgiveness, wholly realistic.
– Yellow toothed Grimace.
- Some greyed with fluoride.
- Dentists to witness.
On a real morning
in the real rain
with real useless thoughts,
another really real day.
Overcast above skinny jeans,
mind over matter,
beer filled bladder.
-What we’ve gained.
Promising to keep promises
Walking home just to kick dirt
Flat-tire again- spare me your words.
Unable to afford trivial debate; I stand at a deficit.
Nicollet downtown slicked squares
cut from somwheres- elsewheres.
Reading books to stay relevant;
vintage classics, or course,
Conversations alone,
clean-cut brilliance, absurd.
Excuse me Mr. Artist, can you paint a picture?
Anytime.
Can you write a song?
Any tune, with any rhyme.
Can you sell millions upon millions?
Hopes and dreams, divine.
Can you deal with the adoring throngs- fanfare, that is…
Kids beat drums on the streets,
attempt at viral video,
as the beggar creates a compelling story (wife, child, car, broken, needs, hospital)
Let me give a little-
I spend time at the liquor store too.
Questions: Do I invest in this practice?
Or do I keep ignoring?
Investigate the occasion,
I mean, I guess, I live in poverty too…
No snow on the sidewalk,
just shoes.
Heat index and sweat,
rugged, as it proves.
No ice- or melting with salt under foot,
hanging cigarette ash on stiff upper lip.
Pedestrians that give real looks
External cost magazine crooks.
Signs in downtown read: affluence, success, money.
Neon lights of red, yellow, green, blue and orange,
They sparkle and shimmer in cold and warm,
even in the daylight morn, bikers, buses, taxis, sparkle adorn.
Then the director yells: CUT!!!
And the lights go dim on the set of Minneapolis.
