"It's about words, and words are all I have…"


buried deep

inside my

right brain


now drained

after 7+ hrs.  twisting

in flannel



-17 with

windchill  eh

a snowday

in  we-the-north


what i wouldn’t

give to pull

the best line ever

to land in my head


still attached to

my body

with odd new





is viewing

the virtual tour



Winter 2020


dear endarkenment

why so glum chum?  a little client once said

that to me  i’d lost my bonhomie  +he noticed

guess i was more depressed than he


dear life:

get a grip


( i said this last bit just recently  

to the nasty  who tried to hack

my soul  she made off with the dye pack  

now forever stained  with the scarlet A  for

absafuckinglutely  not  fabulous


dear life:

save us from the ones who bandy words

like light + journey   u just know they’re

white knuckling it all the way  while the rest of us

live to fight  another day   mostly in the dark

because answers  +light   are overrated


all good dung beetles +alchemists  know that

the path to enlightenment is through shit  +

darkness  run from preachers of light +easyglory




She had not known the weight until she felt the freedom..

(Nathaniel Hawthorne  The Scarlet Letter  1850)


Winter  2020




so when did we unfriend death?  was it when the

first cave dweller lay down +did not get up?  was it

then that we invented immortality?  that mystical   nodeath

zone  where santa + st. valentine vie for your soul


face it  immortality’s only for  the GOOD   while death

is democratic  nonelitist  he takes scumbags!  but just

might like the good little plebes a tad better  juicer  +less

acrid on the reap’s tongue


why not teach kids about death right from the get go?  so

that when they enter their first deathbedscene it isn’t

a shitshow  like my recent deathbed scenario  where even

the chickennecked cancer doc could not say the word  D  E  A  T  H


oh don’t say that word in front of the dying guy!  or he might die!  

hmmmmm  lifedeath  deathlife  twin doors u get shoved through

and i cannot emphasize this enough




Winter  2020

dearcancer (ok i’ll stop now)


too easy  too predictable

hit the roadjack  and don’t u

come back  no mo


that’s better


but all fall  on  deafcancergod  ears

uncle c wants u !   picture the picture

silver haired man  intense nose  pointing

right at u


i want u bitch


so don’t huddle  masses  live dammit!  fly

out of that hospicebed  you’re lighter now

’cause of how much u bled !


but i saw the hallelujah moment  u rising

the others too   notmyfirstrodeo

all the simple doctors who say: 3-6 months for grieving

or we’ll haul u  kicking +screaming


to a white room  withwhitecurtains


so little understanding of what we are

so many away that day  at med school

we’re tribal in our DNA   pack animals


herders of children   gnaw off a paw  for

a feeble father  walk over coals to reclaim

human remains   unless yer so wounded

you just howl  all night  +leave yer kinfolk unclaimed


this happens frequently  the modern era not what

it’s cracked up to be   dear cancer  why r u so angry?

so fucked up?   can we get u a cup of tea?    or some






Winter 2020


crossfirehurricane blues

u don’t have to be born during the

blitz  á la Keith Richards  or be an  (orangetinged)

american oligarch   to be caught in

the crosshairs of a hurricane


1950  feminism still in infancy  me too  decades

away   height of greasy deanmartin docs

dispensing benzos  like pez   valley of dolls

a different kind of rez  (hurricane of mistresses)  betty dawn gina jackie floozy


all the women i know from that era were

hooked   now dying off   benzos verboten

’cause of memory issues+falls  like they

don’t have these anyway   (duh)


but without



raising 3.7 kids



1950’s men    (run for your life)


these dolls have ZERO to do but    w   a    i          t

and waiting is not for sissies   without

interests or identities   it is a bingo   (great for fucking eye hand coordination!)

ridden eternity




Winter 2020

‘gators got yer democracy eh

ravages of a novel virus

(do they always have to say that?)


no not cormac’s   the road

not that kind of novel

though apocalypse seems

an understatement


700+ dead   23,000 infected

1st daze of 20’s  not in with lambs

more  silence of


so do we just put our heads in

the sand?  better than up our asses

because a man named don  just ate

the last morsels of democracy


and one is stuck in his upper incisor





Winter 2020

dear football

what have u given us lately?



heroics of the walrus coach

+a young muppet named mahomes


oh  +a halftime show  showcasing

female subjugation tropes  shakira+

lo jo  shaking their poleworthy parts


how about showing us femaleglory

sans the holes-in-souls who dance for

their supper


but then again  if u watch with the  bigboys

instant entreé  to the innersanctum  no

matter how pink yer shoes


+later after all the chestpounding  ever so

stealthily  your footballfather +qb bro  visit

briefly   to debrief sb 54


Lee laughs with his head thrown back  (a rarity)

+MA with impish grin in place  regales with tales

starring the girls of heaven  apparently playboy

+sports illustrated are lining up to sign ’em



Winter 2020  ..RIP MA + LA..

the fortunate fall?












now kobe






and 210



from a




is this



for you?


will the last



be le bron?


with his

freshly minted

black mamba tatt

left foreleg


they shoot horses don’t they?


as humanity wages

war against itself

we are our own

autoimmune disease


+ everywhere






Winter  2020  ..RIP Black Mamba  +hope ?..



Carl Jung said  the dead  are gathered at the

top of the world  waiting for us  +when we arrive

we impart what dribs of wise we have accumulated

so try not to talk incessantly  about people God

doesn’t know


ie., 27 minute diatribes about so + so’s


his moated villa

his dead whore


no!  talk instead about those things you know

to be true   +if you do not know truths   then listen

ie., shutthefuckup


my father  not a swiss psychiatrist  but a renowned

horsewhisperer   a man who did not make a beggar

of himself  as a venal cousin has suggested   his favourite

word was  silence    his favourite sounds were:


one hand clapping

trees falling in the forest










Winter 2020


purplehaze all in my brain ..lately things don’t seem the same..

this poem not sure what it wants to be

sitting quietly  flummoxed by opaque

dreamscape   scraping scraps from

begging bowl   *a pot induced lack   of soul

(*SOMA by any other name)


evil pot doc – the main side effect is psychic constipation

near dead poet – sign me up!


but i am making a comeback  through

the mundane  chopping wood  watching

screens   calls to  BELL  TDCANADATRUST


ground a once proud flowerchild  to dust


but don’t cry for me argentina  i commit the

pact of faust daily  with an e.coliridden samsung

capturing + nailing light to my wall    little immortalities

+please do excuse me while i fuck the sky




Winter 2020

*Soma – the happiness pill of the brave new world..


“Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the

overcompensations for misery. And being contented has none of the

glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness

of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt.

Happiness is never grand.”   (Aldous Huxley, Brave New World 1931)

Post Navigation