no, not enough stir /
in the morning churn /
echo of the door squeaking /
a last time before the signature flips history /
into a new saturated colour /
it would be useful if we were all coloured red /
bleeding into each other /
in crowded photos of a sidewalk moment /
Yonge Street 1984 /
the face of god at Eaton’s Centre /
pock marked and all the atoms /
searching for a river /
to survive it’s important to ignore other people /
accept that they have already expired /
unless they have a sun chained to them /
make me as useless /
as noon in the arctic /
or the memory of a kitchen timer /
keep a million dead in the loop /
hanging in the town square air /
swaying with the cries and shouts of the heated citizens /
every dock is half a thought /
the waves make it clear /
there is much more
Category: Uncategorized
A Harvest Prayer
if I stop eating locusts /
will you reclaim the world? /
cover fleshy things with /
the hiss of your wings /
we are in need of a sound /
above our own sound /
something tamping and wide /
like a collapsed circus tent /
across this nation /
molding over perfectly /
our raging heads bent back /
angels are for coffee cups /
machine washed squeaky /
but your numbers will lose count /
aiming for our rasped mouths first /
dragging this race’s posture down /
to a ground level murmur /
and the sun’s light /
will have more space /
over your reflecting backs /
and the calming chitter /
tying continents together
A Table For Two
things are everywhere /
the plan is to not stop sleeping /
things in dreams are never met the same way twice /
that new house on Sheffield Drive is death /
that new vehicle upgrade is also death /
that new pine sideboard is also death /
that new lab grown necklace is also death /
buy me nothing on every occasion /
steal all the raw materials /
especially the ones that are known carcinogenic /
Christmas will fail this year /
the presents are still unassembled /
in their open pit mines /
flickering their parts in the in the dirt at night /
lead me along the river bank /
blissfully aware of the slap of the rushes /
cleansing the skin of any notions /
other than skin
weep for the children who see things for the first time /
line, space, colour /
their little hearts calm /
blinking steadily in warmed wonder /
when is the last day for us? /
your face seeing time and timelessness /
that soft smile still /
holding me across whatever invisible border /
I must skip across /
our love adding to the space between things /
at best, driving a world between worlds /
and that word we have /
damning all future lovers /
who walk too slowly towards the silence
Broken Orbital
burn all the baby clothes /
bright enough for the ISS to blink /
like an early solstice /
pushing back against restful sleep /
the blinds lose their colour /
a yellowy bleach bloom outside /
trying to peer through the fabric /
children are so last season /
a tired shade of black /
dusted with a fine skin of dust /
there actually may not be a need for people /
crimping back the lids on their eyes everyday /
letting what was seen saw skate softly over the orb /
I would gladly suck the poison out /
leaving a tiny, clean sphere unblemished by our single pupil
The Decade’s Deductible
a crater in the frozen food aisle /
leaves the shoppers whistling high /
mark downs have reached the lower mantle /
warping all the decimal points /
the smiley faces twist into /
a dark green smudge /
back into the typical atmosphere /
blood donors drag their arms /
through fresh concrete /
molding the future with three foot long fingerprints /
a species extinct before even being interviewed /
a son is in the garage building /
a monument to our successors /
using leftover paint to smear a tumble /
of all possible shades /
hedging his bets on the new dominants /
staring into our window /
love is eaten at a late lunch /
leaving no leftovers for Sunday’s long hours /
all the matter of the world /
should be so soft and so sweet /
folding our teeth back /
for a larger gape /
a welcome opening passed /
from neighbour to neighbour
Capacity Crowd
another child squeezes its soft head into this building /
though leaves, flowers, trees, rapids, all is a building /
greater, grand opening every day /
and sales, sales, sales driven by the commission of exception /
on all items born yesterday, still conspiring /
why all this wordy faff just drives one crazy /
always something else to stir the inkwell /
not content to savour thread count or reflection in polished plates /
the construction crews work through the night /
constructing a launch pad in every quiet space /
tended meridians are perfect as are required green tracts /
stretching across the suburb’s pale arm /
get back to the orifice left behind before conception /
shared by the all not-I-yet /
consuming an airy, aired, airing meal /
grand enough for any galaxy still to be born /
time is leaving us /
not through the door as in the script /
but at dawn through every hinge in the house /
where the cracks are lubricated for noise not light /
grow more hands to climb the walls /
winning awards for just being there /
it’s never enough to divert traffic over the ledge /
but there must be a pageant /
to count more crowns even for the heads /
propping the door open for the next test blast
A Sign for Language
the sacrificial bull is in love /
he’s slammed the gate on territorial battles and /
locked stares at passerbys /
the short knives make him giggle /
he’s stopped drinking /
saving the puddles for his own reflection /
magpies play hopscotch on his back /
he can look at the sun all day /
waving his tongue at the loitering clouds /
the rumbling under his hooves is a tickle /
as he turns away from the stampede /
now he searches for an empty spot /
where the landscape is unbroken /
to let a stray thought get tangled /
and warm his wet mouth for the first time
Closing Night
that last day was a doozy /
all the hornets converging, swerving down the street /
the chlorinated, ultra blue water /
elevating out of swimming pools /
the dogs searching for the darkest place they can find /
power lines glowing red to green to yellow /
enough heat to treble the hairs on your head /
whirlpools in every puddle dragging down any mis-step /
crow’s eating everyone’s lunch without argument /
a cloud for each person, more me than me /
even when the heated currents pulled them apart /
the fish tanning on the shore with a glassy-eyed smile /
all “I love you’s” stopped up behind the bile /
valentine’s day cards exploding in school yards /
memory poorly parked in the street and clipped by the stampede /
animals finally casual, enjoying the show /
and us, with keys still in the pocket, stroking the lock /
each leaning into the din for the warm shape of applause
Napping Giant
a real myth is also a fraud /
lies but gives cause /
how great things were taken /
or disappear under a mountain /
hope as a caul /
becoming more transparent /
as years fold over /
terrible steps in snow /
relentlessly succeeding one another /
no returning marks /
white is the best end /
impossible to discern depth /
everything is conceivable in that blinding scene /
easy for us to walk on water in the winter /
return the dead for warmth /
humming around the lamp bulb before bed /
a cold crease in bed pulls us /
out of sleep just in time /
there’s that loosening where dream /
arches its back just above the surface /
what is and what isn’t gather /
for a familiar abomination /
relatives sporting redesigned bodies /
new species claiming coffee at the community gathering /
blackhole employment definitions /
we can’t run because we are everywhere
Basement Notice
neither there, then or thus /
white holes with welcoming edges, crowded, us /
a square headed man /
swims along the sidewalk /
using shortening for water /
one long, greased rail throughout the city /
tying the neighbourhoods together /
like a knotted intestine /
backed up for generations /
escape to the backyard /
organs drying in the sun /
a hobby fit for an anniversary present /
not to stop up the eyes /
for the fallout will recognize the geraniums /
pausing on the last of the colour