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Wednesday, April 22, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 21 April 2015


I don't know when or why,
but one day
years ago
I gained the tendency
to occasionally stop
and ask
(into the ether,
the universe,
the wherever)
about my life.
Not in the normal, human way,
but as if it all —
every little thing —
could be unraveled and answered
like a Magic 8-Ball.

It's not real,
so why?
The doubt,
the questions of
"What will happen if I choose this?"
or "Will this go right?"
are normal,
unavoidably universal
and human
(and even moreso with an active mind).

It does no good.
There are better ways to create a life,

("All signs point to yes".)

NaPoWriMo: 20 April 2015


I don't think I've procrastinated like this before.
To be clear:
Two week contacts?
I use them for a month,
and even then, only when I'm performing.
If I'm not in a show
a box of six lasts for months.

Shaving cartridges?
I normally change them out
every two to three weeks.

The current cartridge
no longer has the aloe strip.
No more lubricating strip.
And it's been going for about three months.

Just because
I haven't yet done
the Dollar Shave or Henry's thing
and I now refuse to pay
fifteen dollars for a pack.

I'll just use extra gel
and more time with a hot cloth.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 19 April 2015


Think you're an adult?
Adore someone, newly met —
Awkwardness returns

NaPoWriMo: 18 April 2015


More and more these days I realize
that I don't really want to get out of bed.
Not yet anyway.

My body wants to wake at 7
or 7:30
or any other time
at least ten minutes before the alarm.

Most days I'm busy
doing work I sought out
in a field I love
but I still relish the thought
of days spent
having nothing on a to-do list.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 17 April 2015


Today, something >clicked<.

I don't know what it was
or what it was linked to —

maybe a small part
that touches a big part
or a few not-so-small
but it >clicked<.

I felt it.

I think it's supposed to be good,
(Relief was my first instinct)
but it honestly freaked me out
(Fear was the second).

What was it?
Where was it?

the hell

Thursday, April 16, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 16 April 2015


The longer I live in Minneapolis,
the less I like
hearing people
deride Saint Paul.

Minneapolis is flashier.
It is more popular.
It is the sibling to whom all others are compared.
It is Blossom
(from the Powerpuff Girls),
it is Zooey Deschanel,
or maybe Natalie Portman
(in Garden State).

But loving Minneapolis
over Saint Paul
and grinding it under your heel
is no more challenging
than having your favorite X-Man
be Wolverine.

That's work for amateurs.
That doesn't take depth.

Saint Paul is Strong Guy.
It is Shelley (who was
the most interesting one
on all of "Hemlock Grove").

It is perhaps Kaylee Frye,
or more likely Velma:
bookish and curvy,
intelligent and hidden
behind often-lost glasses,
with rewards for those
who to take a look
and stop a while.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 14 April 2015

I'm so scattered right now.
Focus seems difficult
unless it's for sleep
or pixels moving across a screen.

words that were written
for people like me to say
in front of many other people
fall to the floor
(and could get stepped on)
because they have a hard time

NaPoWriMo: 15 April 2015

At last I have taken my car in.
The recall repairs will finally get done.
I just have to wait four hours
so I'll catch up on writing.
thinking that life right now
isn't quite what I'd thought.
I would be fine with a smaller car
except that I'm tall
and smaller cars
are so low to the ground
and could get bogged down in the snow.

NaPoWriMo: 5 April 2015

Sometimes I think
I'd rather be the Tin Woodsman,
except soon I remember
that he actually didn't
NOT have a heart.

I think he felt so hollow
because he COULD feel.

Monday, April 13, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 13 April 2015

Sometimes I don't handle mystery well.
I slow my breath,
quiet my mind,
and let errant thoughts pass like falling leaves.
I open myself up
and talk to the universe
like a Magic 8-Ball.

I sigh
and go back to squirming
beneath the weight of mystery.

NaPoWriMo: 12 April 2015

I am stretched thin.

There is so much to do
so much of interest
so much to love.
There are enough hours in the day
and so many days to seize.
There are enough ideas in the ether,

but there is not enough Me.

NaPoWriMo: 11 April 2015


With my words and my ideas,
books and discussions,
questions and challenges —
not a gun to my name —
I am a threat.
People who look different
carry arms in the open,
make threats,
vomit ignorance,
beat their bloated chests
and they are patriots.

Friday, April 10, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 6 April 2015


Words are more
than just lettery things
you throw together
just to say stuff.

NaPoWriMo: 7 April 2015


I am still confused
by the animosity
people have for pants.

If it's irony
it escapes me.
If it's a joke
I don't get it.

Why not just buy
and why not just wear
a more comfortable pair of pants?

NaPoWriMo: 8 April 2015


This grown man
has no wife, no kids,
and does not own a house
or a box of well-worn tools.

This grown man
has tailored suits
and polished dress shoes,
and ties he can tie
without the help of a mirror.

This grown man
can follow a recipe,
cook without burning,
and do his own laundry
without turning white things red.

This grown man
likes his Legos
and movies
and video games,

his comic book soap operas
and his cartoon voices,
his big shoes
and baggy pants,
his books
and his toys,
playing the fool,
or playing on stage
with the seriousness of a daily commute,
but with much less dread.

Home Depot is for props
and ideas are for sharing
and feelings are fuel
for this grown man.

NaPoWriMo: 9 April 2015


When Joe Bozic writes,
I am reminded of Billy Collins
with extra helpings
of funny
and/or charm
on the side.

NaPoWriMo: 10 April 2015


I find I can't be angry
about the April snow.
April is doing what it does.
I live here; I know the risks.
I wear the boots.
I dance the dance.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 4 April 2015


My heart is bigger than it used to be.

Over time I have grown phantom chambers —
atria and ventricles pumping blood,
giving long life
to a hundred hands holding torches.

Friday, April 3, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 3 April 2015


In the ring of self esteem we both lose:
beaten, battered,
badly bruised.

Bleeding from the beatings
we repeatedly gave,
we meekly accepted each abuse
we delivered on ourselves—
corrosive gifts with tattered bows
— taking them as Truth.

If the blows came from another
we would resist more
fight more
rage more
rise more,
but we know best
how to knock ourselves down
until the count reaches ten
and once again we count ourselves

Please be my cut man

and I'll be yours—

always patching,
always healing
as we go round after round with ourselves.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

NaPoWriMo: 2 April 2015

I know why I could not be happy.
I could count
take stock
qualify and quantify
calculate and justify
and create a list
at least as long
as my arm and your arm and his arm and his arm and her arm and her arm.

A trail of trials laid end to end —
longer than some, 
but not longer than most

I know many ways 
that I could not be happy,
but they have not yet buried
the reasons I could.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

NaPoWriMo 1 April 2015

I don't know where to start.

"Start" or "restart"?
I'm not sure of that either.

The line between start and finish,
between beginning and end,
between start and restart
is not so much a line
as a zone—

Not so much one moment
as it is one cloud of moments
that points to one idea:
that I have already started

Or started again