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


is writing about dead relatives overrated?  your

readers satiated?  yet   what did you have to say

prior to diagnosisday?  (august 2016)   words limping

out of the past   obsessional knots   built to last










nihilistic ballistic missiles  aimed at life  leading to  no

small amount of strife  for readers   who clamoured for

sunshine +daffodils   in deep darkness denial   but lately    hope    !!

not only floats   but creeps slantwise in


now your dead bro visits you   touched your arm  yesterday

at dawn   and there he sits in the darkened living room too

and when you swallow your pot oil at night  finger slippage

leads to him  flying around the room


but you’ve come to see  that he  rose up out of a florida

crematoria  brandfucking new  {so why can’t you}

crematoria notwithstanding



..but now and again on more occasions than I can number, 

in bed at night, or in the street, or as I come into a room, there

she is ; beautiful, emphatic ; closer than any of the living are..

(Virginia Woolf  Moments of Being  1976)

..13 at the death of her mother ..writing 45 years later..

just before her suicide..)




Winter 2020   ..same shit a different day + the pope he’s still in rome..

the last last supper

i know my the death throes  +you would be

surprised  unless your person explodes  right

before your eyes  happened only once  +not



at st. joes   to a young cousin  nurses couldn’t

find the plug for oxygen mask  i crawled under

the bed  +heard the sound of breathing again   briefly


but generally  in addition to flailing arms  a party

is planned   somewhere around the 2 wks to go

mark  even introverts plan parties  take daddy  who

badly needed reefer to socialize (apple did not fall far)


he planned a party in such detail  that sonny langer

our caterer  hired him for special events   now lillian

lays dying  in a cold province  +she is planning a party

with wild rice +gravy   arms gesticulating


101 in 5 wks  about to jump a train for the prairie farm

where she was born   february 1919  dirt floor   -46

and that’s  without  the wind chill




first days 2020

202020202020 inwithabang goestheworld

*the killing of Soleimani is an outrageous

act committed by an amoral president..

Globe+Mail January 7/2020


does hope float?


yes        no


if u voted for sunshine +daffs

in 2019  u may be in luck


but sunk in rigormaudlin

i will never be


does hope float?    hope so



(..but don’t ask drew brees  voodooed so badly

+butter fingered from tonguelick   he floats  






first days 2020

a year in review











Winter  2020







alone of the alone

a grand solitary

often confused

with misanthropy

but don’t mind



just find

the blahblah


father preferred

dogs + whorses


2020  the year of


in plainsite

all zombified



bring it





ere of






how can we dance when our beds are burning?

our mother cannot die in the same bed

as him  mattress burned beyond recognition

in a bonfire   along with family money   condo

remade by rabbis daughter  with bucks to spare


didn’t care for our bourgeoisied palette   no!

+daddy’s ghost  sniffing a ponderous +schmaltzy

woman   fled    now dead for 30   the bed  where

mother will die  lies on bathurst st.


where jews drive like shit  +little fielding melishes

dribble balls +dart into traffic  their own mothers

brisketladen  +farbissen  many with 10 kids  as the

husbands twirl tallis strings   always smiling



..above the drawing room on the first floor , was the

bedroom, which was the birth centre; the death centre 

of the house. Both her mother and father died there..

(Hermione Lee   Virginia Woolf   1997)





Hanukkah  2019  🕎



life on the ravine  not all it was cracked

up to be  an idyll  with red sunsets  off of





in a house where the family harboured

bankrobbers + whores  +gamblers


down the road  the forest turned blue  +

there lived my one truefriend  on a dead end

it was daddy who said she was a lesbian


ronnie shimmelstien studied ballet  +later pre-

raphaelite painting  we met in paris briefly  1983

she told me  sitting splayed on my bed  that:


while in law school at berkley




a windshield


her father flew her to boston  her face  now a

replica  with small incisions displayed  mapping

her pain  +self loathing  (my mother never loved me)


in her canopied room  shimmelstien  had a collection

of dolls  116 to be exact  beady eyes followed me  as i

gorged on white pistachios  ($$$)


it was in ’73 that her bubbie  was found in the ravine

clutching multiple dolls  +screaming   or was that my



our childhood manor  full of savants


sales giants

heroes unt saints



Winter 2019/2020

ain’t born typical

50 yrs.


on the lawn

a large black

poodle   not



blackie to you

verst to me  (no not after a salami  that would be versht)

slim girl   13

with braces



standing beside the tree

now thicktrunked +veiny

not unlike me  (not so thick  just vainy)

50 yrs. have come  +gone


see the lawn  where i sunbathed

with a dead cousin’s bride

sexy+blonde  beverly  she was

found with her lover in a closet  (a week after the wedding ceremony)


which mother went to  in detroit

father escaped through the milkbox

while “babysitting”  never to return


brother burned with a fever  (as per usual)

but fever broke on sunday

pus-ey tonsils stopped reeking

though brother never did


so were our parents mere figureheads?

or CIA operatives?  why don’t u tell me

and brother  i will gladly pay you tuesday

for a hamburger today




Winter 2019/2020



scanning obits

obligatory  purgatory

don’t want to miss   anyone


why are so many dying by

their own hands?   why so

many 1950’s birthdates?  (duh)


scanning obits for ourselves

one day last year  october 24th

to be exact   opened the paper


+heart fell flopping  like a tuna

to our townhouse floor  left tracks

of blood+gore


there was my brother!  longhair

flapping  glorydays over  no one

gave a heads up  how about a fucking

heads up people!


how about a guidepost or 2   i mean

what exactly is next  ????  or must we

continue to navigate without lights

these longish corridors?


yesterday the power went out at the

Eaton’s Centre   but the 100 meter

xmas tree did not !


you cannot

extinguish us

like fleas  mister


or maybe you can





Winter  2019

of zebras and men


i think he’s interested in her

a blacksuited shoesalesman

looks undertaker  but dapper

we’ll take him!


but will she?  used to booths at

el morocco 1943  sat with marilyn

regularly  home to  bombed-out



we reproduced the zebra print on a

wingback chair  with a taxidermied

head above  not hers !  but a zebra’s


last night  he knocked  3 am  livecam

recorded the kiss  but something amiss

not the gentleman caller of 46  (charlie

the bastard out of texarkana)


no!  our shoesalesman boldly planted one

alas she hit him with the metal sitz-bath

sitting in the vestibule


as mr. zebra winked  our father’s laugh

a jazzyriff  on the injustice of an early

death   echoed  from a frozen cemetery

up on bathurst street



mother holding court  el morocco  1946

(far right)



Winter 2019

Post Navigation