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Kyle Kulseth Feb 2
I hope the snow never stops again!
I hope the Winter sinks under our skins!
I hope our four feet freeze
to the cold concrete
while our ghosts both escape in our breath!

If the thaw never comes to our aid
I'll be fine in these tracks that we've made.
I'll be okay right here
with a frostbit sneer
painted large on my **** stupid face!

               You've got the brains...
                   But not the time...

                  I had the dreams...
        But you knew I'm not too bright.

You'd rather leave than throw me a bone.
I'd rather live out my days in the cold
than beg you for one
while you don't have fun
and resent me for you growing old.

I'd rather freeze than thaw with a lie!
You'll be gone with the peak daytime high.
You're the smart one with big Springtime plans.
And I'm holding the bag with chapped hands...
Just a quick one. Been a real long time. Typical ****: winter imagery, bitterness, self-deprecation...But, hey, no cuss words or references to drinking in this one! So maybe I'm growing up! Oh, wait...there's a "****."
Kyle Kulseth Sep 2022
Remember, one Summer,
street was closed for construction
We'd careen through the roads
near each other's homes.
Wheeling through dreams on our bikes
in the swelter
we'd reach for the sky 'neath the cottonwoods'
dome.

Some nights, I still walk through those
baseball glove hours--
those sweat-smelling days
                                       and
those Kool-Aid stain weeks.
And I can still feel that
pubescent laughter
which lived in my chest
                                       and
still pounds for release.

I've leased some apartments
and filed my taxes.
I've broken some promises
                                        and
           I've been destroyed
And I've been rebuilt, but never rebranded
                            Those
                Summer time sunsets
               tattooed on my sinews,
              they just wouldn't have it.
Kyle Kulseth Aug 2020
Flashing grasp of an idea
Before our youths were ever cashed in.
Held onto our chips, played close to the vest
                    in snow.
You were never enough sleeping,
And I guess I was just dreaming
                    of passing
                        ships
                    in the night
            and your signal lights
                        aglow.

                  ...in the foam...

Adventure was calling a heart slow to age,
the same as it had back in our young Old Days.
               So, some things don't change.

I remember, in the Winter,
Trudging quick to campus coffee shop.
Your wet hair frozen, and my breath in that
                    moment...

Springtime flash of our confessions
Just as our youths were getting cashed in.
Released all our chips we'd held close to our chests.
                    Let go.
We were lovers for a season
'til a sudden Summer leaving
                    a passing
                     of boats
                      in heat
             put our oars down
                and we rowed.

That feeling was calling my heart--"Time to age!"
Still falling, like it had in our young Old Days.
                         I guess some things don't change.

Along the way,
You must have fossilized inside me.
Lightning on waves--
Metastasized my bad dreams.
And, over time, see that I was a distraction
                                   No traction,
                                   No chance,
and no time for empty grief...
                         ...it's only brief, love,
                                still I did sink
.
Kyle Kulseth Jun 2020
The last rays of sunlight were purple
on the day the last fat cat died.
     From the street corners
     we saw them chasing
               their tails,
                        bailing water
          that was rising high.

                    It could never
                      last forever,
               whatever they said--
        --Could we ever have prepared
                     for that Fall?
                Call the Springtime.
          No Rewind of Our Discontent.
                  Meant to seize this
          while their machines stalled.

Look alive. Stay with me...

I wanna be there
          when the missiles drop.
Wanna be there when the pavement cracks
and scoop up the last embers of this city
          while you hold my hand.
I wanna be there
          when illusions fail.
Wanna be there when their smirks turn sour.
When the last of all the fat cats starves.
When they see the passing of their hour.

Look alive. Stay with me...

The last rays of sunlight were splitting
off Their glass towers' cracking panes.
     From the bus stops we
     saw them--their faces
               went grey,
                        flailing Dollars
          could not pad their pains.

                     It could never
                      hold forever,
               this Center they bought.
             But they never did prepare
                        for the end.
                Call the Springtime.
          No Rewind of Our Discontent.
                  Meant to shout it
               but the message sent.

Look alive. Stay with me...

I wanna be there
          when the pavement cracks.
Wanna be there when logistics fail.
And two-step on the cinders of this **** heap
           while the masters wail.
I wanna be there
           when their money burns.
Wanna be there when their neckties squeeze.
When the last of all their bonds will merge
When the fat cats die upon their knees.

Wanna be there when the missiles drop
And scoop up the last embers of this city
               while you hold my hand.

                         Look alive...
Not TOO bad, I don't think for a first piece in a LONG ol' time.
Kyle Kulseth Jan 2019
Cold nights
               It's always Winter here.
It seems this season's stretching on all year.
               The beers are gone
               so let's get walking.
                           Grab
    your coat and let's do some talking.
Loud, through the night.
Know our strides will crunch through old snow
beneath old street signs.

                                              Best
      ­                                   bets aside,
                                    did you gamble
                                       on my days?
                               Did I waste your time?

Days come early,
nailguns out.
Walls go up and ambitions drown.
4 blocks down the street, you're screaming,
"**** the cold and this town. I'm leaving."
                     Sheetrock walls
               and paycheck borders
                     keep us pinned,
                in line, on short order.
                              Cook
                    our­ melting brains.
                        Froze in place
and broke your heart, rinsed me down the drain.

Cold nights
               It's always Winter here.
This frigid season's stretching on all year.
               The beers are gone
               so let's get walking.
                           Grab
    your coat 'cuz them ghosts been talking.
Howling each day.
Haunting all our snowbound steps and
rattling their chains.


                                          Alarms and cars
                                        and pulsing hearts.
                                               Cheapest
                                        prices paid to make
                                                our wage.

                                         The clocks in bars
                                       count tarnished stars.
                                                 Cheapest
                                         prices paid to pave
                                                 our ways.


                                              Best
      ­                                   bets aside,
                                    did you gamble
                                       on my days?
                               Did I waste your time?


Days come early,
nailguns out.
Walls go up and ambitions drown.
2 blocks down the Ave., I'm shouting,
"**** the wind and the snow that's pounding."
                     Rent check walls
               and sheetrock borders
                     keep us pinned,
                in line, on short order.
                              Cook
                    our­ melting brains.
                        Froze in place
and broke my will, rinsed you down the drain.

                                            And I'll move

                                                4 blocks

                                              next Spring...
Kyle Kulseth Dec 2018
Dive past the splash page,
let's melt with the inkstains.
It's Autumn, the heat fades.
               The tale
          is unfolding fast

Now turn past the last page
of last time. We'll retrace
the panels, their contents
               you cried.
          But was it canon?

               Play this night here
                         as it lays.
               Place bets on you--
          we've both debts unpaid.
       Wasted time to redeem today
                       And I'd say...
               We're onto something.

                         Knock-
                                    -ing
                 ­         Rust
                             off iron hearts
                         to rewrite our days.

                      
I've got a feeling--
Let hopes ride; no sure thing.
The voices from downtown,
               they blend--
          a thousand songs sung.

The wind and the trees whisper,
"Encapsulate this
moment. It's flawless."
               It's art.
          And I'm past falling.

               Play this night here
                         as it lays.
                  My bet's on you--
          we've both debts unpaid.
       Wasted time to redeem today
                       And I'd say...
               We're onto something.

                 Read the writings
                       on the page.
                 The story's drawn
                and the panels laid.
       Waste no ink on departed shades,
                       as they say.
               We're onto something.

                           Knock-
                                    -ing
                 ­         Rust
                             off iron hearts
                         to rewrite our days.
Commemorating 9/20/2017
Kyle Kulseth Jun 2018
I thought I heard
               Canadian slang
from the opposite bed-side
Like it's 2009, rub some lines off my face.
Inner space bleeding outward,
deep red, a nosebleed,
angled points on white of The Maple Jack.
               A Nip at the Sal's on Esplanade-Riel.

Grab your runners and toque,
               it's warm, but not forever
and these legs are sore. Polar bears
on the sweater you wore in the Fall--
Churchill, Manitoba, the streets are full of teeth and claws.
Awoke and wanted warmth lacking.
I thought I heard Canadian slang.

I thought I heard "it'll be okay"
from the voices of feathers fletching arrows falling.
     they whisper and screams sink deep behind
                                     eyelids
                                     closing.
A sentence unfinished,
                sinking in flesh
                              in time
                sinking
                              in snow and ice
                sinking
                              in water in Summer
                sinking
                              in memory.

I thought I heard
               plans being made
and shy laughter.
I heard it 5 times. Didn't I?
Days fade, ears dull*
Walking on streets, in the cold
towards her home
I thought I heard laughter--
                                   heard something
                        like laughter--
I thought I heard rain, as the Lodgepoles drank water.

I thought I heard laughter.

I thought I heard wax melt.
I thought I smelled fairness.
I thought you wanting more time
to bleed and blur tenses.
I thought I heard rivers rushing and roaring
                                                 their battle cries--
--asserting their presence.
I thought I heard cars pass and sounds of the daytime
                    and late March walk along bridges.

I could swear I heard something
     Like Canadian slang,
                 sweet
                     water
                  light
                      laughter.
Som­ething.
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