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

Archive for the day “February 24, 2016”



last night i saw leo crawl inside of an Appaloosa

After falling from a cliff    +after being mauled

by a Griz   +after clawing his way out of a grave


Exhausting neo-cowboy film   Alejandro Inarritu

on steroids  or something    gorgeous winter light

lots of grunting  especially the bear tasting leo   you

might grunt too


the revenant   loads of stereotypes   most glaring:

indigenous man  sticks his tongue out to catch a flake of

snow   leo apes him   tongue  out  then in  then out again

big smile  though his body  a festering bear-inflicted sore


do some of us think that depictions of  primitive man  in

all of his childlike glory  are verboten?   maybe we are just

jaded  un-revenantable  savages   + maybe not    maybe the

starving  +genocided do not crave snowflakes    just justice

for residential school survivors + missing indigenous women


one chief’s daughter cuts the balls off of  a slave owning soldier

as he savagely rapes her   the depiction is oblique  who you calling

a savage Alejandro?



the horseman’s faces gaudy +grotesque  stripping the clothes from the dead

ripping off limbs  +heads  gutting the strange white torsos   some fell upon the

dying  +sodomized them   as the horses lay screaming  

(Cormac McCarthy   A Comanche Attack – Blood Meridian  1985)


one of the men emerged from the smoke with a naked infant dangling in each

hand  swung them by the heels in turn  bashed their heads against the stones

so that the brains burst forth   a hundred tethered dogs were howling

(Cormac McCarthy   Attack by Federales – Blood Meridian  1985)



Almost Spring  2016


leo inside pony

Leo Dicaprio inside the gut of a pony  The Revenant



falling spotted pony   a splayed+blood-soaked chiaroscuro

enters my bedroom at 2:30 a.m.   blood seeping into white  entry-level-

mercedez  carpet   entrails a steaming heap next to the cherry armoire

(a woman must have cherry said Moe  furniture salesman extraordinaire)

i rise from the curly-maple bed  (our bedroom an urban forest   husband

resists wife’s efforts to metro-sexualize his soul)


the spotted pony has my name written all over it   i see that i could easily

fill its womb-tomb cavity   husband says with a smile: it stinks in there city-girl 

i crawl in  with Tom Ford’s  sin-in-a-bottle  clutched firmly in hand    soon i

forget the deaths of some sweet ladies we know   i danced the tarantella with

one   a mere 2 weeks ago


inside the pony i am warm+wet+bloody   it is o so familiar    now an urban-girl

revenant?  a pony soaked Persephone whose name is Spring in 7 languages?

one might think aviva an expert on:  resurrection!   reinvention!    think again

this spotted pony   is growing on me   i may not come out until Spring    or Fall





Almost Spring 2016




Poet’s lumbersexual beau insisted on shovelling snow on the

walks adjacent to at least 3 neighbours homes   Even the one

who didn’t lift a finger last pellet-storm as poet lay forlorn and

twitching after lifting a Poinsettia


Bushwhacker’s winterzealotry  appears disloyal   but then he does

hail from 179 Royal Ave. Winnipeg MAN  where real men eat squirrels

with bare hands  if necessary


Today poetsicle dreams of Inn at rented lake  where poetry flows like

manna from Heaven  +the fine last lines you have come to demand   fall

from this pen liked greased hogs at the rodeo


However  at this hour: what is bizarre   what is oblique   the revelation   obtuse

+twisted    That which grows out of the poem  by itself  (you should live so long!)

and all littlemisscan’tbewrong poet has to do  is sit there  and catch it escaping







Almost Spring 2016

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