Does it rush at you,
too quickly and sinister,
as if lying in wait for a wakening?
You had a fondness for a thing
ambered now,
in its beauteous fade.
What’s left for us,
after such withdrawal,
stewed, now, in the certainty of worry?
Chastened in the land of hurry.
You won’t have to tell me
how to touch.
Where to begin.
What emboldens,
or brings wild abandon.
With ease do i see your gilded cage
and its fearsome keeper.
And, we know why rules were made,
don’t we?
Your measured steps tell of fear,
not of love.
I have a fear too,
but of a different kind.
Your ceaseless radiation
is my courage.
Together, we’ll be dangerous.
this morning,
someone asked me if i had food.
i was driving,
and no one was with me.
this question,
spoken through ether,
was an answer to a tardy dream
i had
of one in rags
who wanted to speak but couldn’t.
black, as a colour (or the absence thereof),
can express thought or intent surprisingly well.
for such were his eyes,
and they saw me well.
i stopped for relief on a gravelly shoulder,
pushing aside fronds and common bush
to tend to business.
being done, i shoved my way out,
and found that burdocks and sundry
had stuck to my clothing.
a tiny twig had gotten between my neck and collar,
and as i pulled it out i saw it held a pale cocoon.
one in want of a metamorphosis,
but stilled somehow.
its furled denizen mummified.
a life never lived.
a waste.
I’m seeing someone.
She knows a lot about me,
more than I know myself.
I’m finding out how hard it is
to give honesty, such a lonely word.
It really does wring your tears out.
But there are more where those came from
in these scenes of absolution, validation, and condemnation.
She had a mouth like Groot.
(carry on, I said to myself)
Red catfish lips and smeared makeup.
(was she 60? 70?)
Rouged cheekbones,
bright bohemian garb,
and ballerina slippers.
A standout on the Walmart mile.
And her drunkard’s walk?
An impromptu dance to make me smile.
Hah!
Squeak now, smelly one!
Study me,
damn me,
with your hatpin eye.
Not much can you say.
Not much can you hear
with your velvet ear.
We don’t need to “raise the bar” for YOU, do we?
As you lie in your hard bed,
your crucifixion’s a warning-
IT’S A TRAP!
Sundown at Nipissing’s shoreline,
and the big lake begins its freeze.
The soft fire of November’s embers
pleases the eye, but can’t warm us.
I stand in the cold cold sand
that waits for winter’s cover,
and think of unimportant things:
that there will be no more drifting things,
maybe until June.
And, where do all of those greedy gulls go
when the freezing squalls begin?
And, another question, for old Dad:
You sure liked your hot mashed potatoes
with that half stick of butter,
table cream,
salt & pepper.
Why can’t we eat what we like, Dad?
Without dying, I mean.
I just can’t…
no more.
Clarice sees the Sea,
breathes its dreams,
soaks in its mists
by a foggy rock.
When all the world’s compasses
begin to list to her true north,
Clarice will speak in tongues,
and name the Suns, in legion.
Glory will be to the one who is not named,
and who was the maker of her mind.
Johnny-come-lately,
I plant bulbs stupidly
in the cooling earth
under powder of snow
with a straight spade
I dig up cake-flaps of sod
I disregard directions
and just drop them in,
the oniony things.
This blasted blizzard.
I drop to one knee,
hard of breathing,
hit by BB’s of ice
gimme that potato salad
with the mustard sauce and the bacon
those fried mushrooms with the smell rising
mind my big nose
pressed flatly against foggy glass
approve my flirtatious hands
as they make fake feetprints
for amusement, in lieu of art, on grey glass
in threenight, i will be at this same tall door
and, when i draw my nails down its frozen frame,
white cakes of frost will bunch up,
and i can eat them and smile
just like a kid
Aremyfeetofftheground 