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Kyle Kulseth Jun 27
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.
Kyle Kulseth Jun 2018
Wanna drink in the park,
But the ******* mosquitos...
Eaten alive and I can't stand the heat
                        so
I turn down the bed
and I wait for December.
Shaking head
                   aching neck.
I'll thank you to remember
              I've always been one
              for walking in snow,
          ******* clenching this jaw
     while I'm chomping down crow--
--Don't wanna drink in the park
              'til it's really ******* cold.

And you...
          got no reasons to lie
          or axes for grinding.
           Just summery eyes,
          blind to punchlines
                  but finding
                      me out,

       With my rank Autumn breath,
                        I'll try...
       try to settle on Spring one time.

Are you
         dwelling today
                   on concepts
of verbal grenades or clever plays. Lost this bet.
           Cut off my sleeves, no ace.
Call me in the morning, or could play it safe.
     Summer's gold, but will you freeze
                        if I don't stay?

               I'll curse my sweating
                       shakes away.

Wanna sit in the dark,
hash it out with my ego...
Barely awake, I can no longer speak
                        so
I'm glued to my bed.
I can't wait for December.
Pounding skull,
                 crane my neck--
Try once more to remember
              I've always been one
               for sleeping alone,
          turning, tossing in sheets,
          spitting crow back at cold.
--Just wanna drink in the dark
           'til I'm really ******* old.


    Were there...
          really stories to tell?
     or just axes for grinding?
           Or summery eyes,
          sneering punchlines
                  frowns sliding
                    cleats first?    

    
        With brittle Winter hopes,
                        I'll try...
     try to settle on Spring--No dice.

And I'm
         dwelling today
                   on concepts
   of phantom pains and severance pay. Taking bets?
               I'm finna lose both legs.
Take two in the morning, stay awake all day.
     You stay gold. I guess I'll stay
                     the **** away.
Kyle Kulseth Jun 2018
The rats and the snakes
     creep in and crawl through your brains.
     Those veins are pumpin' sky blue blood.
Don't wanna circle the drain, but cycles spin 'round and 'round
     and then they **** ya down in thick, black mud.

It sticks in your craw,
          the way they're flappin' their gobs;
their dollars buyin' graveside seats.
Cheaters glom onto prayers the way you clutch at your chest,
                    and slobber in the putrid heat.

               When they come for ya, baby,
                      maybe run with me.
                Chase the dyin' light to San Jose.

               No point in cryin' or laughin',
               fightin', fussin' or clappin'--
       Cap or Crown, it's only goin' one way.


                              They bought.
                                 You sold,
                                missed rent.
                              It's getting cold.
                              November Rain.
                           It soaks you through.
               But that Song, girl, it ain't nothin' new.


So punch your ticket and scoff
while we all bend and cough.
Catch the last flight, and I'll stand by.

But don't lie to yourself--
          silver linings on brass,
they can't break through the gold-clad sky.

                          Yeah, ya silly ******...
Kyle Kulseth Apr 2018
Buzzing drinks, this purple sky
shrink around the orange street lights.
You told me once, it might be nice
          to know what the look
          of a winning hand looked like.

Cliched sighs were my reply.
Kept me from at least two lies.
Lines of Alaise, I'm swinging blind.
I'll play your best cue as it lies.

               Sing something sweet to me
               Raise your brown eyes to meet our city.
               My blue ones always sink;
               when the chorus kicks in
                    you look so pretty.

               I know you're not right for me.
               And, baby, I'm no good for anybody.
               But at least we share some needs
and the midnight view from the bridge on Orange Steet.

Stumbling steps and shaky laughs
and creasing lines in clasping hands.
I told you once I'd take a chance
          to see the sly curve
          of your wine-soaked shy glance

Buzzing signs, citrus street lights
Let's fall in love with urban blight.
Our voices loud, we're walking blind.
So here's my best play, one last time.

               Sing something sweet to me.
               Close my blue eyes--I love this city.
               Your brown eyes sing to me.
               We're the chorus now, babe--
                    you're bright, but I'm witty.

               Know it's been a ******* week.
               And I know I'm no good for anybody.
               But let's still our shaking knees
    and kiss a new year on the bridge on Orange Street.
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