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



There is a line of poets waiting to squeeze

into the hole where the wolf sits curled   But

I bet once they get you in there  they mess with

your infrastructure  and tomorrow you will sound

bite randomly   Let us hope not as daftly as the

Trudeau boy since Monday


In this room at the A.G.O. there is a squashed blue

bird resting on a glove  under cellophane   & an ex-

friend in red shoes +bag   1/2 the woman she might

have been   Charlie Brown mouth  glumchum zig zag

as usual


Back to the bird   He lays there mournfully   not the bird

he used to be   (now she spies me +begins filming with her

cell  Tonight when the moon is high  she will project my image

onto her bedroom wall  +stick pins into my private sorrows)


On the way in today  over on Beverly St.  beside the park where

I have witnessed 3 sex acts   a lone woman slouches  Her eyes

watery+hopeful  gazing in my direction   Gold shoes from Vegas

veritable Moloch magnets   By + by I wear the red chord of Ruth

It protects me quite nicely from tainted love & scorn   Not so much

old battle-axes   + fragile narcissists


(As she swam out to sea someone cried   Help me!  

Fucking narcissists  shouted my analyst  +swam the other way)




Fall 2015

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