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

Archive for the month “June, 2014”



Voting today  nerves frayed  card with my name

+ where to vote  printed in minuscule letters   Mis-read

the missive   walked  in feelslike45celsius  to the wrong

place   There and then decided  forgetaboutit   not voting

Make the letters bigger for chrissake    Passed my bro

on the road  he said: Do you know what they would give to

vote in the Levant?   Now in front of 2nd voting station  little

old lady probably 90  passes by  same mistake as I   They can

kiss my ass  she cries       My sentiments exactly




Summer  2014




distort contort tear-apart re-assemble

This  the work of aging it seems    and Dr. Frankenstein


“once I falsely hoped to meet the beings who, pardoning my

outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which

I was capable of unfolding.”  (Mary Shelley’s  creature)


Only in dreams can you visit  your cavorting youth   Now Kevorkian

has designs on you   How is your re-assembly going?   A 90 yr. old

friend said:  It’s like waiting for a streetcar     Her re-assembly

progressing nicely  So far so good   Still walking  still thinking  (too much)


With dreams more vivid than life  which seems has increasing fog patches

Mist around the edges   We don’t know if our contortions are better than

the alternative  (millionaire snake-oil doctor overused this term) 

woman:  doctor  menopause is killing me

doctor:  it’s better than the alternative!


All of this at $75/15 minutes  but then he was a militant atheist+nihilist

who saw little purpose in human existence   (filthy bastard)   Wall to wall

women in his waiting room   waiting for the magic bullet  (rub it on your majora)

I dare you   On the way out he handed you his opus   full of quotes from great men

with his name on the cover   The alternative grew more appealing with each visit


Perhaps the re-assembly machine is moving me toward daffodils+sunshine   and

moving Dr. Snake-oil toward a purgatory where he has to write his own material

and wake up in: the alternative    as a menopausal woman





Summer  2014




What makes human’s unique?   Preying

upon their own species?  Their pleasure

in getting inside each other’s brains  via:

bullets MRI’s romantic love   (what makes you tic Mr. Terrorist?)


Together this double specialty is said to be a

killer combo  equipping us to take over the Planet

Should you think world domination by one rogue species

a good thing I direct you to a deep reading of Mein Kampf


It is no secret that natural selection has sculpted

human genes  turning us into survival-machines

Except when the evolutionary toolkit produces PTSD

Oh the horror  the horror    croaked Colonel Kurtz


Why I have known 5 yr. olds who live in a trancelike

state   Torture  particularly in the early years  so difficult

to eradicate (ditto gestation in the womb of a tortured mother)

Sectioning the brains of 4 stillborn human fetuses has

proven this


Humans seem to drag around the remnants of

their incubating cocoon   Pre-natal environments

may adversely affect the rest of one’s life   Yet scientists

say that behaviour doesn’t leave fossils


We must hotly dispute this notion  see: bullet ridden bones

infant skeletons with multiple fractures  charred remains in mass

graves   Even a Neanderthal cousin turned up with an axe-split skull

And never forget that 42% of modern european DNA  is Neanderthal


Which brings us to the conclusion that  we must look at the characteristics

of each tree  before we may understand    the emerging forest



colonel Kurtz




Summer  2014




So who is the fatcat jazzman of them all?


King Louis!   of the gravely voice  black eyes

and a grin that would lift up  even the most soul-

less  of sinners   Most certainly slipped the answer

back in the Vieux Carré   when the cornet was his

ticket out of the Home for Coloured Waifs


There was never a face so full of grace + transcendence


O fickle is fame  pushed old Louis aside  when those badass

beboppers  were on the ascendance    Dash Away

Dash Away      King Louis A



*if Louis’:  T’was The Night Before Christmas does not bring a tear

to your eye & smile to your lip   you never did have a soul worth saving






Summertime   2014     for Satch  a dog the colour of Louis’ lips





propelling words down my arm into

hand & fingers   tricking brain   no i

will not write today   pick up pen  mid

swig   transcribe  copy   invent?


doesn’t pay the rent  last bookevent sold   24copies

6372+ words    dollars have not yet flowed in this

direction from the BIG BOXY BOOK STORE


that’s what you get for making your pact

mercenary poet  too addicted to filthy lucre

to stay with the indies on an orange crate?   while

the literati congregate at awards ceremonies


& 2 poets named anne vie for the $75,000 prize

i draw your attention to the slowness of writing

to those excruciating coagulations  of words

especially when there are no words to describe

your subject matter     only growls


today in my city  the lower 1/2 of an infant was

found in a park  the morning paper announced:

it is not a homicide at this point     would that i

were a painter  or sculptor  & my job would be done

with an economy of strokes   + the blow of a chisel




Summer   2014








Go away rare butterfly   The construction Gods

have conspired to destroy our holiday   & I have

just been bitten by a deerfly   Left ankle bleeding

Chair now soaked after freak-rain   Turquoise tankini

damp + churlish against city-white skin   Rash setting in

Would that it were Tequila dripping from my chin instead of

homemade jam left on our bedside table at     The Little Inn  


Now we lumber down mainstreet lurching on cobblestones

& face a 45 minute wait for beer-battered goat    A pox on Mr.

Innkeeper  whose ratty little dog will soon begin to bark    You

can take your country jams   & shove them into a dark crevasse





Summer   2011



Fine is the girl with a dapper cut & cobalt blue hair

sitting cross-legged over there   She looks like a saint

eyes cast heavenward breasts dangling perilously   She

is smoking & speaking in tongues   I wonder if she will

allow me to linger & stare?   Or stomp over & drag me

into the black fountain  at The Monk School of Global Affairs


Come baptize the peevish-poet if you dare   She doesn’t need to

be in a forest to get lost in one   Now the microscopic redspiders

close in   & the white skeleton bugs begin to bite ankles   on a hot

+ hellish day  in the city



*trees produce substances which boost the human immune system

& multiply dopamine levels 10fold   The absence of trees in one’s life

may lead  to severe anomie   & to skies filled with dead stars



solstice man




Summer Solstice  Stonehenge   2014



I want to go home but there is $2.25 left

on my meter  I should be writing my opus

making something of myself   No doubt I will

soon be shat-upon by a pigeon   As the world

marches by I listen to the beat of my own drummer:

loser   bannnnnnaa  poseur  baaaammmmmm!

Sometimes writing feels like the shit-abyss*

Drum roll please   my meter has finally expired






Late  Summer  2011    *Jim Lahey   Trailer Park Boys



Do I attract the mentally unstable  or do they attract me?  A fairly normal

looking man has just stepped into the water sculpture in the courtyard where

I write   His pants are rolled to the knee  his hands in prayer pose  At least he has

not begun to pee  Which wouldn’t surprise me  in the least   Now he is creeping ever

closer  to me   As long as his penis remains unseen  I will take a position of:  Don’t ask

Don’t tell    Otherwise I will scream bloody murder   Perhaps this is a message of sorts

Give up the ghost   Return to your day job    Make the world a better place




Late Summer  2011



Today in the Greeting Card aisle a man

stopped me:  Excuse me miss  do they have 

cards for 59 yr. olds?  With this  I ran stumbling

into:   Seasonal    Stomach     Pain      Longing for

the bone-chilling silence of   -19


Perhaps it is time to give up my  obsessional knots:

Winter   Spring   Hipsters   Death   Suffering   Marriage

The tide may be turning to more quotidian matters  blather:


obnoxious+obtuse citydwellers (a profusion currently)

people with largish heads who sit in front of you at concerts+men

in stinky jackets in the next row   old fishermen with sublime tongues

&stories to tell   ditto the profusion of  girls with pneumatic breasts

in headsets  on Philosophers Walk   U of  T   


So come along gentle reader   the poems of 2015 promise to be quite

empty of meaning   but ultimately freeing  on so many levels  + a promise

to refund your time for reading the ones that are all    about me





SPRING  2014


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