Waterfalls

Waterfalls,
I want to ride a reverse waterfall
and be shot into the sky, into space,
full of skies and waterfalls and real, bona fide
promise,
I want to write my life
like I write a screenplay,
no planning with continuous editing
until it gets perfect.
I wonder what the tl;dr message at the end
of my life will be, maybe something
like this:
Women are like water,
they're so hot that they're cold,
it's so cold in here, I've turned on the heat
I've put on a sweatshirt, I grabbed a blanket,
a hat, a jacket,
I even wrote a poem,
but it's still so cold, it burns.

Duluth

I don't how many poems I've written
about Duluth, probably only a couple in name,
but many by nature, "Untitled"
as the city itself, located
on the outskirts of nowhereland,
just North of the not-so-great plains,
inaccessible by freeway,
and just plain inaccessible.
Duluth, my home,
where the sun doesn't because it doesn't know how,
where all my friends
aren't, they've left—
they've left this state, they've left this world,
they've left Duluth.