Author: G H

bait the hook with something that looks like them /
and flashes in the long dark /
like another eye sharing the little light /
other air awaits /
hueless except for those increasing dangerous days /
the first time there’s a song there /
prepare for slivers in the lungs /
feel that space arranged, pressing in time /
no floating particles to plot space /
you may not be thankful in your lifetime /
it might take a few unrelated generations /
to appreciate walking over every little thing

leave life alone /
let it twist blindly in the culvert /
grab its own way out /
of that steel vein, if ever /
never having children is a loss /
for the plastics industry /
lope to the edge of the falls /
and pronounce “enough” clearly /
all roads lead to roam /
free of generational street names /
celebrating there is no one (1) left /
except everyone else /
trust me, I stare at the sun /
tanning retinas /
primping for the day /
the parade dances off the cliff

between the dream and the doze /
spruce beetles chatter into /
the beams overhead /
it’s not exactly an evoked place /
evoking a peculiar intonation of time /
but item circled in the abstract catalogue /
dropping on the doorstep /
assuming christmas even in july /

the melt from march isn’t even a memory /
slippers sleepwalk through the intersection /
it’s as if warmth is all we have ever known /
not a particularly complicated notion /
but enough to damn us all /
for refusing to move forward and backward /
at the same time /
parking at the start and end of the street simultaneously /
almost always on schedule regardless of the day’s distance /

snow is how we should see /
every air, all at once /
acting is over /
the play is not repeated /
one time only always /
time unannounced /
tearing up the aisle carpet /
scraping the glue away /
from the winter blank below /
the cast freezes /
knowing the next line is new

history is not taught /
to the people it happens to /
something else is seen at the time /
an actual spleen, muscular organ /
tumbling down the street /
even without a back wind /
it rolls over glass pieces /
and abandoned strollers /
write a song backwards /
that’s a real education /
focus on the tightening boxes in the cabinet /
how an abstract becomes /
a dark, rifled hole /
no map, just volume expanding /
in the radicals’ dry shower centred in the street /
imagine the others wealth naked /
more stretched mouth and teeth /
than flagging genitals around the banquet /
aliens to our sun /
place that child down on the curb /
time for the rally /
aim the bus over the cliff /
if the few can count on you /
a grand canyon for party policy /
they refuse to be buried /
waking from nothingness each morning /
claiming the country’s shores over again /
books get smaller over time /
small enough to blow away /
with the bicentennial candles /
satisfied to be told to hold /
the fireworks in your mouth /

nature notices us /
measuring our veins /
to tie the hedges together /
in a wet knot /
I’m fortunate /
there has always been a floor /
floating high enough /
for a crawl space below /
enough elbow room to get lost for decades /
mind the crows overhead /
they’ll remember our scalps for generations /
the unexpected steps we placed /
taking that old argument outside /
at the end /
the pores open wide /
challenging the sun /
for centre stage /
the eyes are last to pull away /
stubborn muscles /
still splayed for a toying world

a less than compelling poem /
about ephemerality /
there may be a need to write /
but avoid needing this world /
that noisy matter at the end /
of the broken curb /

sleep before everything /
even kitchen fires /
the house becomes our last meal anyways /

please don’t care /
enough of us already filling space /
sit quietly as air leaks into orbit /
hugging all the floating debris above /

space junk is an industry now /
with promotional swag /
and embossed business cards /
attracting all the attention /
at the job fair /

aspire to be an untethered garbage man /
time and a half pay /
for breathing recycled oxygen /
the industry’s tagline: /
“everything lives forever in space” /

snag the scrap /
and set yourself free /
room to roam /
until another time finds you

I found my parents singing /
one is dead, the other sinking /
into the lightless loam /
I didn’t know either of them /
knew a single song /
“I’ve Got You Under My Skin” as an anthem /
eyes closed, fingers nearly touching /
facing a white brick wall, bellowing /
the sound lifts up into the water stains on the ceiling /
their windows are colourless /
rattling with shifts in key and tone /
they hold a minor key down /
until the basement crumbles below /
children know one song /
and this ain’t it

to age is worse than dying /
feeling the body shrunk-fit to coffin-size /
as many moans as words /
severing sentences /
or not enough will to draw the line /
to an end /

dogs pity the decline /
jaw on lap /
knowing the end is already sinking inside /

some can afford pity /
having more quarters to ruin /
some, merely an exhale at first /
with little sound reaching westrun shores /

die, but do not do /
motto for mostly /
perhaps if I had detonated /
an IED earlier at the championship game /
an aster breaking amongst the cracks /
floating above the concrete levelling

soon after the death /
christians did not recognize one another /
a cave is quiet enough for prayer /
marry away from the world /
every finger given to wedlock /
the ghost throws confetti /
its toast is a whisper /
nonreturnable gift fills the table /
first and last thing on the registry /
there will be no house, no children, no anniversary /
that first soul flattened across the equator /
advertising quietly for others /
the abstract on earth /
for the kingdom arrives late /
claiming all the addresses as its own /
the shine on their waiting faces is blinding /
there will be more sons of man /
it’s our side hustle reversing the ideal /
turning air into brick

there is no forgetting /
except plastics in the box /
contemplation born out of /
an indifferent environment /
to be everywhere is intolerable /
I make something here /
the other from the other /
there is no not setting the tree on fire /

except for the odd poet /
the lie fills every air, /
that we are not alone /
building sound on each block /
to scare migratory birds /
the spruce trees, birch trees, ashe bushes, /
moss, trilliums, quartz veins /
are not afraid of us /
they only know us /
after they are gone /

black water carries an old child /
under the trestle /
through the marine traffic allowance /
aluminum belly floats free in the lightless water /

there never was a poem on crown land /
but disregard for the considered thing /
the child makes and makes back /
fitting education for a lifelong /
quiet explosion trying to /
attract the red-winged blackbird /
humanless /
for a shared second