stop. go. slow down.

when the world is sick

june 2006

duluth, minnesota

Он начался с смысл.

on this weblog:

this has gotten far too formal. 

far too put-together.

deconstruction to follow.

tous les chemins mènent à rome

tutte strade

i met an old italian man once

in jerusalem

outside of the east wall

of the old city

across from the mount of olives

atop some moslem graves

he asked me

where damascus gate was

so i told him

pointed

and joked around a bit

telling him

"it's on the left"

(which is a joke because 

it could only have been

...on the left)

he laughed

i laughed

we talked a little

telling each other where we were from

our conversation tapered off

and before we parted

never to see each other

ever again

he looked at me

and told me

"all roads lead to rome."

with a smile

and smile induced squinty eyes

and i smiled too.

damn étrangers encombrer notre pays

communist

june 2006

wyoming, minnesota

d'attente pour la liberté ou d'un cœur brisé

on waiting:

i asked myself "eric, are you trying to break your own heart?"

to which i said "yes."

saint valentin

valentine's day 

i'm out of cigarettes.

it's not very cold here

but jackets are alright anyway.

some people think you can't have fun

if you stop drinking when you're seventeen.

the photocopier's broken

and i just patched my jeans again. 

meilleur ami

sam in the summer

august 2007

wyoming, minnesota

j'ai conduit une fois à travers l'amérique

this one time

this one time

i drove across 

america.

not the band.

they suck. 

i hate america.

the band.

no really, they aren't

very good at all.

moving on.

i drove across

america.

and i saw a lot 

of things.

in america.

i saw nebraska

and the lights

of a nebraska 

highway patrolman

as he pulled me over

(this also happened

in reno

and iowa.)

i saw the inside of my car

every night 

as i fell asleep

in the backseat 

of my 1991 four-door

lebaron

except for one 

night in jackson

hole where i stayed

in a friends room.

his name was trey.

it still is.

i saw the plains, 

trains,

and the tetons - 

at two in the morning

in driving rain

with one windshield

wiper gone

awake purely 

on or off caffeine.

i saw the

the redwoods and

the ocean. the 

peninsula and the bay.

monterey.

i saw some hippies

and some friends

with meatloaf

and a crate of my LPs.

i saw a semi 

on its side on the 

freeway in

the middle of

wyoming.

which is a terribly

windy state. 

i saw many things

this one time

i drove across america

alone. 

but the only 

person or thing

really worth

seeing, the only 

real reason for my going

was to see you.

souvenirs

on memories:

i ran across the street like a hooligan tonight. 

éveillé

awake

this says we can't

be together.

it's yelling at us.

(and)

they follow suit

and say we can't

be together.

loudly.

but what have

we done?

other than 

beat our sweaty open

palms against

the other's bare skin

againstmeagainstyou

in hopes of 

finding ourselves,

coming to

our place

together.

pulling at and unwinding 

every last moral thread

in our clothes and bodies.

every bit of sensible 

marrow within our

wicked bones and 

sinew from our 

very legs. 

we were a couple

of regular

outlaws me and you.

and now i'm

losing sleep

(night after night

on end)

and 

you won't 

leave me be.

and now this is

all i write of

BECAUSEYOU

AREALLTHAT

ISONMY

MINDANDYOU

WILLNOT

GOAWAY.

i've tried. 

dear Lord, i've tried

over and over

and over and

over and over

again. 

i've tried to 

get rid of you,

the ghost of 

thanksgiving past

and me, 

the ghost of a 

kid who once 

used you to 

further his 

narcissism, his pride,

his lustful thoughts

and intentions. 

fortunately for all of us 

the Holy Ghost strung that

miscreant up

on a cold old west

morning and

his decomposing

body body 

still hangs from 

the lowest limb

of that thorny 

Godsend.

thelatterisgone

and

thatisbesidethepoint.

but you're still 

here haunting every abandoned

corner i slip away to

for alone time

or solitude or

intercession.

this says we can't

be together. 

it really does. 

here in the lines 

and spaces.

they agree. 

but fortunately

(for me)

this is a liar.

and they couldn't 

be more wrong.

nous, les arbres

we the trees

august 2008

minneapolis, minnesota

à l'intérieur

inside

this is a poem

about a film called

"inside."

"inside" is a horror movie

made by some frenchmen

who i believe to be

completely devoid of values.

it's damn near a perfectly

made horror film.

shot well. scored well.

story is riveting.

ending is perfect.

effects are flawless.

but it's probably

the most realistically 

twisted film

i've ever seen.

i'd rather watch

"cannibal holocaust"

three dozen times

than watch "inside"

once more.

and i am hardly

joking.

if i could give you

one piece of advice

for you to consider 

throughout the rest of 

your earthly life,

it very well might be:

never watch "inside."

l'esprit de 76

we don't even like us

august 2006

forest lake, minnesota